The Forgotten God

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The cave of the bull of the baboons reeked of death and was sweltering in the darkness of death. The freezing chill of the underworld and the heat of hellish torments rolling together in macabre copulation.

Souls to be judged, or those already damned, would smell the sulphur of blazing lakes and shiver as the crevices all seemed to have eyes. What beasts could be concealed? Waiting for them to falter, for the judgement to lean to their favour and their claw would rend apart the last visage of humanity, casting the aura in smithereens until some pity might repair them.

Only one resided within those echoing chambers.

The first born of Osiris and member of the Duat, Babi was worthy of the fear and awe given him. Aggressive, omnivorous and bloodthirsty, the hunched deity delighted in devouring the souls of those who had been deemed sinful after the Maat had weighed them.

The tingling and piquant flavour was mouth-watering, the perfect delicacy to compliment the diet of wine and entrails, the gore of which painted the murals that decorated the crags.

The thoughts of the people influenced his creation in the form of a hunched baboon, known in the minds of the people as animals of the dead. It was not the first time the myths had crafted the form of the Gods, most simply taking a mask of said creature but some, moulded in the womb in the true shape.

Hopelessly virile, Babi resided alone for the most part. Not even the other deities wished to be around the unpleasant, wanton brute. What pleasures he obtained were from those given by his worshippers or from the less than willing offerings.

Zuberi felt the brutes gaze on him as soon as he entered the chamber. If the stench of decaying and unwashed flesh was not enough, the weight of those amber eyes was crushing.

He trembled as he set the meagre offering of a butchered rabbit down. He hadn't been able to get anything substantial but hoped the token would keep him in better esteem than those of the outside world.

'Proof I am dedicated to his greatness,' his thoughts were almost a prayer as he stepped back with a bow. 'Surely others do not risk the wrath of another God to serve him.'

He waited in uncomfortable quietness as the glowing eyes flitted from him to the b****y meat.

"What...is that?" Babi growled, making no effort to move. "a canape? It would barely make a good mouthful. Do you know how stringy rabbit entrails are?" His teeth glistened as he snarled, coated with thick salvia. "You dare offer me something so puny?"

"I-I apologise, oh great one!" Zuberi prostrated himself on the ground, not daring to look at those eyes that burned into his back so furiously, feeling like the fiery rage of the whip. "I have had no chance to lead astray on pure enough to sate the hunger I know my great master feels. Forgive me, I have narrowed my choice! My master has eyes like Horus, like a hawk. I must tread carefully!"

Babi was silent and, from the narrow view he allowed himself, Zuberi saw the rabbit slide away, leaving a trail of scarlet in its wake. The sound of eating followed.

"For the most part," Babi finally said, sucking the blood from his index finger "you have been loyal and not disappointed. Due to that I shall overlook this display of weakness, of failure."

"Thank you! I-"

Babi silenced him with one look. "Bore someone else with your gratitude. I have not yet finished!" He cast aside the hind joint of the rabbit, the dark would keep it somewhat fresh for later, and bounded forward, gripping Zuberi's hair. "I have only so much patience, human. I am giving you one month. When the moon is full once again then my patience will be exhausted and, despite your unsuitableness, you will then become the entrails I crave and your soul lost, understood?"

Zuberi choked, his words stuck in his dry throat. Babi gave his head a vicious pull, snarling, his rancid breath filling his nostrils.

"Understood?"

Zuberi automatically moved to pry at the claws that dug into his scalp, watching the scowl turn into a beastly grin as they simply dug it further. He felt bubbles of blood rise from the punctures.

"Yes! I understand! Great one! Please, release me!"

A shriek of laughter pierced his ears, the sting growing greater as the strong finger intensified their hold for a mere second before slamming him down onto the ground. Pain crashed through his nose as it collided with the grit, blood pouring from scrapes and damaged cartilage.

"Tell them you slipped, slipped getting something for your fake master," Babi scoffed as he watched Zuberi sit up, clutching what was surely a broken nose. "Slipped and smashed your silly head against his walls. Of course," he bounced on his toes. "You cleared up your mess."

Zuberi bit his tongue, so hard the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth, trickling from the corner. Babi grinned wider. Had it been a mere mortal, or even a lesser God, to speak to him so disrespectfully they would have received a razor retort or even a stinging blow.

But none would dare to rebuke a powerful being, the consequences too dire to envisage.

"Go. Find my pure one and prove yourself," he ordered coldly. "Give me the delicious ecstasy of taking one Am-Heh would find tolerable. Bastard he is, I shall show I am one above him, devouring his servants and sending their severed head, peeled of the tenderest flesh, to his chambers."

"Yes, illustrious one." Zuberi's voice was tight but he managed to sound humble enough not to offend. "I shall not fail you."

---

Ishaq finally set the soiled rag aside, looking at the polished floor with a small degree of satisfaction. It was clean enough to almost see his reflection, although he knew in minutes the older servants would simply walk over it with no regard for his work and then chide him for a lacklustre job.

Am-Heh never did. He would glance up when the work was finished and simply nod if it met his standards. If it didn't, he pursed his lips and demanded in a cold voice that they continue. He would tell them only once and if the job still was not complete then they would surely end up with new scars by the end of the day. Never again did they fail in duties unless they were foolish.

So far, Ishaq had met the lash once. And that had not been on Am-Heh's orders. It had been one of the elder servants and it had been his own folly for cheeking him when rebuked.

Not holding his tongue had always been one of his flaws and more than once he had been subject to the cane from a teacher, his hand left smarting for the whole day.

He heard the familiar stride of the elderly butler, heavy yet dragging. Born with one leg slightly shorter than the other, he often dragged the longer one to save a limp. In Ishaq's mind it looked more ridiculous but he never dared say. Old and kindly looking, the man had a violent temper when provoked.

"The master desires your presence later," he said, making a smear as he crossed the still damp floor. He looked down and wrinkled his nose, hard to see with all the lines that already blighted his face. "Let us hope you please him more than you do me."

"What-what does he want with me?" Ishaq asked, adding hurriedly "just so I can perhaps prepare myself!"

"Menial tasks I suppose," the man answered. "He didn't say. Only that he needed your help in the fire pits. You are honoured," he looked at him with cool suspicion. "Not many are asked to aid him, certainly no one as new as you. The other, who now sees to the horses, had worked here well over a year."

His eyes searched Ishaq heavily, looking for any sign of corruptness that could have pushed their master into trusting him so. He found none, the innocent eyes just as bemused as they all felt.

He gave a snort and wafted his hand. "Fortune favours you. I fear your purity will lead you down a dark path, but what do I know? Some fare well and, as much as I despise saying it, I hope that will be your fate, however, I have seen many a good one fall. Temptation is stronger in the land of the Gods."

---

Whether or not one could describe aiding the birth of a demonic hound a menial task was something to be debated. The great beasts were a strange breed, possessing both masculine and feminine abilities.

Once every century one would bear a pup. It was cause for celebration, but was also a double-edged sword. The dogs were not parental material and would often wrench their own young from their body, killing it in the process for fear it would become more powerful. If it lived, the life span could be short. Seldom did they watch them and feeding was last on their minds.

It was difficult to tell when they were ready, their belly swelling only slightly like the clouds when considering a threat of a storm. Often, when it became obvious and the teats seemed to swell, they had already destroyed the offspring, casting it into a pit or leaving it to rot.

This time Am-Heh had noticed the miniscule changes in temperament and was not taking any chances. The dogs were long lived, all knew that, but another offspring would be useful.

Mandisa was gentle. Her air putting even the fierce beasts at ease. Her whispers and soft lullabies lulling them into peace, forgetting the feel of the pup straining within for freedom. A sweet tang of herbs managed to break through the scent of ash, sedating the beast more and crafting a hazy and eerie air as if they sat in a world of dreams, a world between wakefulness and sleep.

Ishaq could, under her quiet advice, ease the babe from the womb, taking it aside to wait until Mandisa had managed to harvest the first milk to bolster its chances before it was hand and bottle reared.

"They only ever have one," Am-Heh said as he turned away, finding the natural process of birth unappealing. His expertise was the death of the soul and new life was alien. The only young he came into view of were the sad souls of the departed youth and even then, he felt little. They scarce to no sin and were not his problem. "So, you need not worry about twins." He looked at Ishaq. "Just make sure to hide it before they see. They have some trust in you and you do not wish to let that shield fall."

"No, great one. Neither of us will fail you."

Am-Heh gazed at him for a moment before his eyes flitted to Mandisa as though suddenly remembering she was there. He gave a contemptuous sniff.

"Make sure you don't. Inform me when it is over, I have work to do." He tossed his head, his hair falling in waves and sending a cold shiver through the pair despite the rage of fire about them.

Mandisa looked down. When work was mentioned in such a manner it meant destruction was not far away. Her face became taut as she stroked the smooth head of the softly growling dog, its massive head resting in her lap.

"What's wrong?" Ishaq looked up quizzically, his hands slick with fluid as the pups' head slowly worked free, its eyes opening immediately, b****y and red to survey the world that would ordinarily be so brief.

Shadows gathered in Mandisa's placid orbs and she refused to meet his gaze, continuing her soft song instead of answering.

"Run out, thou who comest in darkness, who enterest in stealth, his nose behind him, his face turned backward, who loses that for which he came.

Run out, thou who comest in darkness, who enterest in stealth, her nose behind her, her face turned backward, who loses that for which she came.

Comest thou to kiss this child? I will not let thee kiss him.

Comest thou to soothe him? I will not let thee soothe him.

Comest thou to harm him? I will not let thee harm him.

Comest thou to take him away? I will not let thee take him away from me."

Grit dug into Ishaq's knees but the pain did not register, his mind entranced by those familiar words and by the pup, as large as a small terrier, wriggling and yearning for the air and its freedom from the dark of the womb. Blood and birth fluids spilled freely, forming a puddle beneath him but he hardly noticed.

"I have made his protection against thee out of Efet-herb, it makes pain; out of onions, which harm thee;

Out of honey which is sweet to living men and bitter to those who are yonder;

Out of the evil parts of the Ebdu-fish out of the jaw of the meret; out of the backbone of the perch.

None shall ever harm thee."

The words stilled the pup and no sound left the jaws that had opened to cry for its mother. Instead, a soft purr rippled from its throat, dulled as Ishaq tucked it under his arm lest the older animal hear.

As he turned, Mandisa looked over, her words ominous but still as soft as silk as she continued her caresses.

"Fear for the world above, pray for them. For surely the master is angry. None ever slight him and get away with it." She waved her free hand as Ishaq moved to reply. "Take the babe and I will bring you the milk and clean up the mess afterwards. The dog will eat the afterbirth but the smell of pregnancy fluids is vile if they dry and fester."

He was about to hesitate further, but the uncharacteristic sternness spurred him on. With a quiet nod he cradled the sticky black pup and carried it tenderly back through the gates where the others bounced to see what had been happening.

"Careful!" Ishaq lifted the precious bundle higher "don't make me drop him! I don't think your Master would be pleased, and nor would I since I'd be the one to face repercussion!"

"Bring it in the kitchen, you'll get no peace from that r****e" the cook opened the door ad eyed the dogs with indifference, preferring the cats that ambled gracefully outside the walls. "But you clean up when you're done. You'll find out what a mess they make soon enough."

It was a mess Ishaq had not wanted to find out about. Greedy lips fastened about the bottle and gulped the sweet milk in gluttonous slurps before he had a chance to pull it away. The pup blinked, and the fluid swirled in a stomach that had not been meant for such a large meal.

Ishaq gave a small cry as he saw what was about to happen, and pulled the animal back, but it was too late. Creamy milk erupted from its mouth and the bowels gave way, coating him, and the floor. From the corner of his eye, he saw the cook smirk. He looked at the pup who wagged the stub of its tail.

"It's kept what it needs," the bolshie voice stated and she slammed fresh dough on the counter "now get on with cleaning up what it doesn't and take it to the Master before the smell makes us all empty our stomachs. Oh," she added as an afterthought. "Clean yourself up. He won't faeces trailing his chambers."

"Surely not," Ishaq scowled, grabbing a rag to towel them down. "I think my hope of receiving a task that isn't thankless has been cast aside with all that also."

The cook paused and shook her head. Life was thankless, the human predicament commanded that.

"Just enjoy the boons when you get them," she offered reluctantly. "And keep your complaints to yourself."