The Forgotten God

Chapter Thirty-Two

In Aaru the rushes grow tall and wide, along the banks of the Ka and into the veil of eternity. Where grand Osiris resides, protecting the souls who passed those many perils along the way, thwarting the armed fiends that guarded the doors. The boundless reeds signal rest and cradle the weary, concealing lush hunting and offering nothing but paradise. Where the sun rises, the soul sets, forever and for a day.

When Isaac touched the book, left open by Am-Heh, the words flowed back, a droll intone of a dispassionate holy man. Ishaq had heard them spoken in his days of education, preferring the voice of his parents who breathed life into them. The valley to paradise was hard but if that was what lay beyond then every step was worth it. And they would live together again, until...?

No one knew. That mystery had both thrilled and terrified him.

The immense palace of Am-Heh had not been quite what had been written about. And scouring floors that were already as polished as the finest crystal, was not entirely what Ishaq thought of as heaven. But he passed it off as being stuck between life and death. His body was not empty, his soul had not escaped. He'd simply been plucked to a new existence.

"Don't follow me inside again," Ishaq nudged the excitable hounds aside as he placed down the water, much of spilling as they crowded in a cluster to see, moving away only when they saw no food was available. "You made a dreadful mess with your pawprints and I got the blame for it. It took me ages to clean, at least to get near whatever standard they set."

He stood back and watched them gambol like pups. He'd learned to deal with their needs first and then bring the larger bowls out and go through to the dark hounds. It had taken several scolding's and dropped meat to learn, his nerves making him oblivious to the obvious answer.

He opened the gate while the dogs were occupied, albeit disappointed in the water they were given, hauling the hessian bag with him, dripping scarlet with the barely cooked meat still warm within it.

Despite their lack of interest in anything but the meat he brought, Ishaq was still nervous of the great beasts. Much like their master, their mere presence was intimidating.

Mandisa had advised him to not show fear. That animals fed upon it, making them bolder or sometimes more aggressive, sensing a threat from the stiffness or tremors. These fed upon it, their eyes looking smugly or slyly in his direction, as if contemplating whether to lunge just to see the effects. They never did, too proud to act in such a manner but they still gained amusement from expression alone.

The air filled with the scent of blood and sound of teeth tearing into raw meat as he put the bag down and they immediately tore into it. Their mouths dripping with gore and salvia as they chewed messily, low growls joining the gluttonous noises.

Ishaq looked away, the sight as unpleasant to watch as it was to listen to, but he had to wait and retrieve the sack and wash it for later use.

"You are doing well with them."

Ishaq jolted from his subconscious haven of silence as the rich voice penetrated it, dropping to his knees in the dust at the golden feet of his master.

Am-Heh looked from his dogs to the cowering figure and bent down. His warm fingers pressed under the small chin, lifting his head and urging the rest to follow suit.

He felt the tension in the muscles evaporate and watched as the almond-coloured eyes brightened.

"Thank you, great one," Ishaq whispered with a shaky smile. "But it is credit to you, you have trained them to behave well."

Am-Heh almost smiled back, his lips tweaking upwards slightly before he steeled himself and shook his head. "They are created obedient, at least obedient unto themselves. Mutual respect and clear instruction is all it is."

Ishaq nodded. It was the same in all walks of life, or it should be. Prince of pauper, man or beast, all lives were based on tolerance and living alongside each other, working together.

It was unfortunate when that never seemed to work, ego and self-importance ruining the harmony.

"Still, they are my creation," Am-Heh added with a touch of pride "created from the black embers and from the blood of my veins."

"Your heart, great one," Ishaq whispered without thinking "might well be on fire but it is anything but black."

He stiffened as Am-Heh stared at him, all too aware of the faux pas of speaking out of turn. But the God did not seem irritated. Instead, he appeared stunned into silence, the words melting the hardened walls of his heart in a way that no other had done.

"I..." Ishaq choked on his words. The silence and bemusement more unnerving than any show of rage. "I didn't..."

Any words were lost as Am-Heh pulled him up as if he were made of feathers, their lips crashing together in a powerful, one-sided exchange.

Ishaq felt his breath seize, his heart pulsating rapidly as fire coursed through his veins, his body pressing against the flawless figure, so warm and real. He ached to touch him, to slide his arms around his frame and allow his fingers to trace the body that would make any mortal warrior simmer with envy.

He pressed closer, pushing Am-Heh to deepen the moment but the God jerked back, tossing his head and flushed with embarrassment.

"I have things to," he snapped stiffly, avoiding looking at Ishaq "I shall no doubt see you later."

"Great one-"

Am-Heh held up a hand, already walking away. "No. No more talk, words will sully the air."

Ishaq bowed his head, waiting some moments before looking back up. Am-Heh was gone and his dogs had finished the meat, devouring the bone and sinew also, and were laying idly by the bubbling pits, enjoying the feeling of burning sulphur on their thick skins.

---

Mandisa pushed the last manuscript back onto the shelf, pausing the stroke the roughly bound pages, the illustrations so beautiful in their coloured inks.

How she wished she had been allowed to learn to read, imagining the poetry of the script and the fantastic tales they span. For all he was, their master was a great storyteller, relating epics of the Gods at the rare social occasions.

Mostly, it was to amuse them without the irritation of small talk and personal questions. Even with other Gods, grand or lesser, he felt it was none of their business how he fared. They could reveal all they wanted, adding to his list of tales he could invent, but their complaints bored him.

It was her job to organise the scrolls he had written, whether business or creativity. They were all gorgeous in her eyes but they reminded her of her lack of formal education, her parents thinking it prudent to give her a few basics in currency and focus more on household duty.

"Good morning, Ishaq," she said lightly as she heard footsteps. Having an ear for them she recognised his soft tread. "I'm sorry I couldn't tend to the hounds with you, but one of the others is ill, so I've been given extra duty." She paused as she noticed the flushed expression. "Are you alright? You're not becoming ill as well, are you?"

"No, not at all!" Ishaq laughed awkwardly, looking at his reflection on the floor. "I'm just...tired. I didn't sleep too well last night," he forced himself to look up with a weak smile. "Someone was snoring."

Mandisa chuckled, accepting the explanation with good grace. He watched her for a while, rather abashed from his small lie. A small lie often escalated into one far larger, but how could it? And he could not have told her the truth, and how his stomach still rolled and his loins still burned.

"I've been told to tell anyone who passes that our master does not wish to be disturbed unless it's an emergency," Mandisa turned back to the shelf. "He is annoyed enough by some back in the homeland. They never seem to learn that their slights can have harsh repercussions."

Ishaq hesitated. He should walk away, take the advice with a nod and little more, but curiosity gnawed at him. Even in that brief moment of contact, he had noticed the tension that held the God in its grip.

"What happened?"

"I don't know the entire story," Mandisa shrugged "only that a sect in Swenett offended him somehow." She bit her lip and swallowed. "The town will flood and the crocodiles will be well fed."

She hastened her task, her lips set tight as if sealed by stone. Ishaq stood, frozen as thoughts and memories whirled in a tornado about him.

His parents were there. Just outside the boundary of the area and would surely be caught in the chaos. The idea of them drowning in the river that should only give life, or being wrenched into a deathly somersault with the beasts that swam beneath the flow. It was unbearable!

"Where is he now?" He whispered and Mandisa turned, her eyes full of pity and subtle warning.

"I don't really know. Even if I did, you would be wise to keep your peace. You have not yet seen him in a rage and you don't want to."

"I have seen three people sentenced to be flogged," Ishaq countered brashly "I hardly call that a rage, although you could feel the anger around him, it radiated like the fires outside."

"That wasn't a rage. That was simply annoyance, much like what the grand Pharaoh's feel. They can't do any more than have their slaves whipped to within an inch of their lives," Mandisa paused in her work to fully acknowledge the young man. "They might be scarred for the rest of their days, or at worse, be incapacitated from pain while the open wounds heal, but that's all. If you ever saw him take justice into his own hands, then you would know true anger."

Ishaq gazed at her in silence, imploring her to speak more, but she turned away again. She had only seen once the treatment of a soul sent Am-Heh's way, and that had been enough. Twice in her time there had there been reason for servants to be dealt with by the master himself, and neither were seen again. None spoke of them.

Others had disappeared, but no one them knew where, or even if the God himself did.

"Ishaq," Mandisa's sweet voice filled his ears. "Do not dare his anger. If you must speak, do it another way, or wait until his mood is more sombre. You do not want to become another name no one remembers."

Ishaq nodded and started away, ceasing when he was out of sight around the corner. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, confused and overwhelmed with all that had occurred in such a short space of time. He was just a slave, surely? One of so many that had passed their lives within these walls without making a blemish of the heart and minds of mankind.

And yet...

'Could I ever be one that no one speaks of?' He thought to himself as his fingers rested on the pulse of his neck, beating frantically. 'Am I so vain as to think his touch means differently?' His hand dropped to his side. 'Walk with caution as one would in a pit of snakes and rose. It is better to be scratched with the thorns and avoid the deathly venom.'

He looked down at his feet, already hardened and scraped from constant pressures. All he could think of was the lakes of fire, the kiss that ignited an even stronger blaze within him. A soft yet dominant gesture from one deemed a beast without a heart.

'May the Gods protect me,' Ishaq added as he wilted 'for they know my resistance is fading away.'