The Forgotten God

Chapter Twenty-Three

Isaac tossed uncomfortably in the depth of his sleep. It was heavy, as though he was being pushed into the bed by some unseen force, pressing his heart to release the emotions of the life he was dreaming of.

The memories too were weighty, painful when he finally awoke.

That seemed to be some way away as he continued to see the ancient world play out before him, looking out from a body he knew but was not in control of. Not anyone, he was simply an observer, watching a replay and unable to change what had already passed.

The dogs' coats shimmered as he combed them, rewarded by happy wags of their crinkled tails and the occasional excitable lick of their satin tongues.

Ishaq chuckled, batting them away as he tried to brush their ears, feeling they were trying their best to distract him from his duty rather than show any thanks.

"I might prefer this to biting," he laughed, pushing the hounds head back gently as it turned again, its cold nose dampening his own. "But it won't stop me making you look tidy; I don't think your master would be pleased if you ended up matted or with fleas. Nor do I think you would be!"

If they were anything like the mites that had once invaded the family's clothes then they were unbearable. He had heard lice were unpleasant enough but at least they had been confined to the head. The sensation of lying in bed at night and suddenly feeling the itch of tiny creatures scurried over his skin had been appalling. He had practically scratched off a layer before the itch subsided, or the sting outweighed it.

Working in the fields that day, still itching and with skin that was rather raw, was uncomfortable to say the least. By the end of the day, he wasn't sure whether the redness was caused by his nails or the sun.

"He certainly wouldn't," a soft voice answered.

Ishaq looked over to see the delicate form of Mandisa quietly emerge from the kitchens with a bowl of water, setting it down quickly before the dogs could knock it from her hands.

She was a striking but frail looking woman whose body barely seemed to have enough weight to hold her upright. Her heart was strong and glowing with a mystery that she didn't whisper to anyone.

There was a lot of gossip about her, why such a weak looking female would be offered, and where exactly she had originated from. Her skin was an exotic shade of brown, richer than those born and bred, with limpid, sloe eyes that twinkled when she smiled.

"Our illustrious master hates them looking scraggy," she looked amused as the dogs fought to see the bowl before turning their noses up upon finding only water, most of which now spilt over the side to cool her feet. "I doubt he'd be too judgemental over a knot or two though, he knows how stubborn they are. The only time I recall him being furious was when the one in charge had not bothered to tidy them for weeks."

The dogs loved her. Trailing after her and vying for her attention and in the hopes of a treat smuggled from the kitchen; a scrap of game or chicken was a grand offering in between meals. Even with the talk around her, most of the others found her a delight too, always ready with a smile and a helping hand.

"You've not met the larger two yet, have you?" She asked as she straightened up from petting the youngest.

"No," Ishaq shook his head, plucking the loose fur from the combs teeth. "I didn't think he allowed anyone to tend to them?"

"He doesn't," Mandisa smiled knowingly "I just happened to hear he was thinking of allowing someone to shoulder a little of that burden so he can concentrate on other duties. I know well it would be you."

"How do you know?" Ishaq asked in bemusement. "More talk floating about?"

"The master is easy to read sometimes, Ishaq," Mandisa laughed softly. "I am around him more than others due to my quietness. He is far deeper than what the tales tell and sometimes he says something that can be read into without fear of misinterpreting." She moved over, avoiding the areas he had already cleaned as best she could. "He seems fond of you."

The words warmed and chilled Ishaq's heart in tandem and he shook his head in an attempt to dismiss what was clearly idle gossip.

"I'm the newest here," he said, dropping the brushes into the basket near his feet and gathering them up abruptly. "I would hardly think I've made any impression on anyone except to look inexperienced and nervous. I know the guard on the entrance thinks I'm a fool."

"The guards think everyone are fools," Mandisa picked up a silver brush he had forgotten, placing it atop the other items. She met his eyes. "I have been around many Gods, Ishaq. None are ever as predictable as we think but they do have an ability to know the soul of a human within minutes. They needn't weigh the heart to judge the goodness."

Ishaq found himself smiling softly, basking in the warmth of her words. She was almost an older, wiser sister to him and could calm even the most tumultuous heart.

Zuberi often stared her way, lingering in the shadows in the hopes of catching her attention. When she looked his way the normally hard features softened like butter, the eyes that glowed with contempt became mollified.

In reality she was not fond of him either but, unlike the older servants, she kept her feelings to herself. Even with her strong countenance she knew avoiding trouble was worth the slight loss of appearance.

"He also mutters out loud to himself," she added with a small wink as she turned to head back to the kitchen. "I don't think he realises it sometimes."

One had to strain their ears to hear the breathy comments but Mandisa had learned a lot by doing so. Some things she learned were helpful and were wonderful to share with others to aid them and advise. Other things were not so pleasant but no worse, perhaps, than that of the human rulers.

In many ways she knew that mortals and Gods were not so different.

Zuberi looked up as they entered the human kitchens. His hands were red from polishing the utensils that gleamed on the table beside him. A tiny smile lit his features when she returned his nod of acknowledgment but his eyes soon darkened when her attention returned to helping Ishaq with his load and chuckling at some light comment he made.

"Thank you," Ishaq took the last brush from her and returned it to its case. "And," he added with a conspiratorial grin, "I shall tell you if your speculation is true."

"Oh, I know it is," Mandisa patted his hand gently "and I think you deserve it, you work hard and I think you're dedicated since you want to make sure your family are well. That is something I personally find very admirable and a quality that warrants good fortune."

Inwardly Zuberi seethed, setting down the last spoon with some force. Several of those present turned quizzically but their gaze didn't linger long.

"Sorry, slipped out my hand," he muttered, tossing the cloth into the corner to be washed later.

"As long as you haven't cracked it," the cook said as she took the warm dough from the bowl, kneading it brutally. The muscles in her arms straining as they worked the mixture to perfection. "If your finished then go and continue with your other tasks, they won't do themselves, and you," she nodded in Ishaq's direction, flour clinging to flushed cheeks. "Take a jug of water to the Master's rooms and then go and help with the stables." She huffed, rolling a lump into a rounded ball. "Shakir is getting slower by the day."

Ishaq nodded, his eyes riveted for a moment on her handling of the dough. Reminding him so much of his mother when she was in a dark mood, taking her frustration out on the bread mix. She'd laugh and say cooking was therapeutic in many ways, and it saved her nagging either himself or his father. Thankfully her dourness didn't seep into the food, otherwise they'd have all been ill.

He took up the jug without a word and hastened from the room, feeling Zuberi's judgmental eyes on him. He couldn't fathom the man, sometimes helpful albeit with a frosty edge, and on other occasions frankly hostile.

Good natured as ever, Ishaq gave him the benefit of the doubt. Personalities were grossly complex and it wasn't possible to understand them.

"You know," the cold voice cut through him. "I don't have an issue but jealousy can run rife around here. Mandisa gets it an awful lot but she's too sweet for anyone to hold a grudge against. But men don't have it that easily."

Ishaq paused and look over at Zuberi and managed a shrug, his voice equally cutting. "I'll deal with it. It's the same in all walks of life. I find if you deal with it privately or even ignore the ignorant ones, they recede back into their own bitter silence. And if you are envious, I speak with Mandisa then you have little to worry about. She's a wonder to speak with but I don't see her as any more than a friend. I've had plenty of female company and I've never been a threat to anyone interested in them."

Zuberi arched an eyebrow but did not respond, bringing his mind back to business. He walked alongside Ishaq in frosty silence, breaking it only when they reached the door of their master's chambers.

"I shall see you at supper," he said coolly "it's pay day so we have extra meat. The hounds caught a large gazelle and some of that was dried."

"A nice change from mutton," Ishaq answered, knocking the door once. As per normal Am Heh didn't reply and, after a moment, he nervously pushed the door. That feeling of intrusion never faded, always told never to enter a room unless permission was given.

Am Heh looked up briefly when Ishaq entered, his eyes dropping back swiftly to his letter. The thin pen fluttered in his hand, dancing in the light breeze that seemed to permeate what would be stifling air otherwise.

A game board in the form of a coiled snake was sat on the table ear him, the lion shaped pieces paused at random spaces on their journey to the head.

Ishaq recognised the game as one he had played in the sand with his friends, their board drawn crudely in the dust and their counters made of small stones, not the grand ivory and alabaster. His confusion as to how the God played alone was soon answered as he set the jug down and one of the counters moved as though taken by surprise. Swiftly it moved back into place.

Even invisible opponents didn't want to be seen as cheats.

Ishaq dared a smile towards his master as he stood back respectfully, his eyes drifting from his feet to the shelf where several curled papyruses were placed haphazardly with several reed brushed and ink bottles.

Reading was not his strong point. His education had been basic and his main focus was pushed to be about his work but he still enjoyed listening to the prose and poetry that those more elite and those far older were able to relate.

"Something you wish to ask?"

The low voice, almost a soft growl, jolted him. Looking up he found Am Heh gazing evenly at him, the merest tilt of a smirk visible.

"I gestured you could go twice," he said as he set the pen down. "You seem to be lost in your own world. Not a good thing to be doing when you are on duty. I would have thought you would have known that before you got here."

"I apologise, great one," Ishaq bowed, sending his head spinning. It had been some time since he'd drank anything and the movement was too swift. "I was-was just wondering if you wished your shelves organised? Just in case something is misplaced?"

There was a harsh silence. Am Heh frowned, unsure how to respond to the offer. There were two ways he could take it after all. Be offended that a mere slave questioned him, especially if it insinuated things were not in order. Or he could be pleased, almost, that Ishaq showed initiative and was willing to work when others weren't.

He decided, with some reticence, on the latter. For some reason Ishaq's naïve innocence and desire to please were endearing even to him.

"If you wish," he said eventually, forcing a dismissive sniff. "I do hope you remain this committed to your tasks when dealing with my other hunting dogs."

In mid-bow, Ishaq froze, quite forgetting himself as he straightened abruptly, words falling from his lips without even thinking of protocol.

"Your other dogs? Great one, I have been here less than anyone!"

He clapped his hand over his mouth, cringing with the weight of his indiscretion. Added to the weight was the sigh of muted frustration.

"You have a strong mind," Am Heh said pointedly "strengthen it more to take on the rules given it. I admire free will, having one's own thoughts and not kowtowing to banal authority. But one has to balance it."

The reprimand was worse than any whiplash and Ishaq hung his head, wilting visibly like a dying flower.

Am Heh continued. "I have been patient with you. More so than with any others, you are willing to listen unlike some who show scorn at such rules and replace their overt contempt with mutterings behind my back when they think I cannot hear but my lenience cannot last forever." He paused, rolling the pen in his fingers and trying to rid his voice of the compassion that threatened to seep in. "I have no doubt that the senior staff would be less charitable and they would not hesitate to correct you."

"I'm sorry, great one," Ishaq whispered, surprised by the painful feeling of guilt that grew in his breast, his desire to please the God far more powerful than trying to appease the older staff who, for the most part, he found tiresome. "I'll try harder."

"Don't try," Am Heh got up, his tanned skin almost golden in the light, enhancing every perfect muscle. "Just do it. Now, back to where I was. Yes, you might be new but from what I have seen and heard I can think of none better to trust my most precious possessions with."

Ishaq swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Listening attentively as Am Heh explained their purpose and what he needed to do. It was more complex than with ordinary hounds for these were beasts of myth, created purely for the God's alone.

To do anything with them one had to brave the lakes and gardens of fire, perilous for trespassers and the doubting. Am Heh was able to give the gift of being immune to their raging heat unless the heart was impure and would automatically reject that nectar.

"Tomorrow evening," he finished, flicking his wrist toward the door. "There is a minor banquet organised for the senior staff, something I feel the need to do every year or so to show appreciation for their efforts."

Am Heh gave a snort, tossing his head and sending his hair cascading like deep, rich wine down his back. Ishaq's breath caught in his throat. The sheer magnificence of the man was enough to cease the heart, coupled with the knowledge of his reputation it could surely be the end of anyone not blessed to survive there.

"Personally, I find it all very tedious," Am Heh continued "so, any excuse to leave early. I would say I trust them to behave decently but I don't. As long they keep things to the night alone and not in front of me then so be it." He looked at Ishaq coolly. "You will at the main doors at eight sharp, do you understand?"

"Yes, great one," Ishaq could barely contain the waiver in his voice, brought on my anticipation and the tsunami of emotions that stormed inside him.

"Go," Am Heh said dismissively "I have things to attend to. And remember what I said to you."

Ishaq bowed, remaining silent, hoping it would prove he had been listening far more than words could. Even though his eyes were down as he turned to the door, he had the strangest sensation the God had smiled.