The Forgotten God

Chapter Thirty-Four

"Have you lost your flesh?"

Ishaq looked up to see the leering face of Zuberi close by. He jolted and hurriedly turned back to scrubbing the floor with more zeal than before.

"I'm not sure I understand." Ishaq dashed the brushed down, spraying cloudy water across the tiles. "I've had no reason to, surely. My nerve has not been tested enough to be lost."

Zuberi circled him with the same self-satisfied and condescending manner. "You seemed highly disconcerted yesterday, when I saw you fleeing back to your quarters. What's wrong? Have the hounds gotten to you? They are rather a challenge from what I understand."

"No," Ishaq gathered up the bucket, his face reddening at the memory of the day prior, still able to feel the powerful closeness, the warmth and intimacy. The mere thought ignited a need that boiled painfully deep inside. "I was flustered as I'd had a lot to do. It was my own folly; I'd left things late and not timed myself."

Zuberi reached for a rag, slowly drying the damper tiles with slow circular movements. The air about them was stale and pinpricks of unease tickled the nape of Ishaq's neck. Even when the man was not looking at him, he still felt the judgemental and cool stare, made all the more unpleasant when worn over a mask of amiability.

"You'd best train yourself better," he said at length "a minute lost is a minute wasted and one you won't get back. They all add up eventually."

"I know. I've heard that many times before," Ishaq answered tetchily "my parents, teachers, all of them were constantly reminding me. So, I hardly do it often."

Zuberi grunted, falling silent. But his eyes sneaked looks at the younger man, something he was clearly aware of, his poise stiff and muscles taut as he worked.

An age seemed to pass before the sound of hurrying feet interrupted the stagnant air between them, offering a hassled breeze of relief to Ishaq who had been growing more uncomfortable with each second that passed.

With a look of irritation, Zuberi caught the eye of one of the men and beckoned him over. Normally, a slave would have no power over Lord or servant, but Zuberi's furious gaze was enough to summon even the Pharaoh to his area.

"What's going on? We've spent ages cleaning this and now your filthy feet will get us into black depths of trouble! The mud smears, the prints!" He threw the rag down. "So, what's the hurry?"

"The master wishes our presence. He requires several preparations for his plans against those who dare slight his name." He stopped, adding with a sneer. "Maybe you ought to follow. Then your inane questions will be answered. You can redo the floor after."

"Maybe we will." Zuberi got up abruptly, yanking Ishaq with him. "I'm not continuing to clean when people seem to think it fitting to walk all over it! You walk all over us and think nothing of it as well!"

---

There was a deathly hush in the great hall and the handful of summoned servants waited in fearful anticipation for their master's voice, a sense of nervous resignation about them.

Am-Heh barely acknowledge them as he perused through several sheets of fresh papyrus, pausing only to brush back the locks of red hair that fell forward to disturb his vision.

The contents were not difficult to muster and the guards he handed them to were technically minded enough to understand the perfect diagrams and instructions.

"You will carry out all that is needed to prevent any shelter," Am-Heh finally addressed them "no one must be allowed to find safety when the banks burst. Those who don't feel their lung fill will water will be devoured by the crocodiles, whose teeth will feel like fire to prolong their heretical agony." He stepped down from his throne, lowering his voice to a rich growl. "No one, man, woman or child, will be allowed to live."

By the door, Ishaq paled, his eyes filling with unbidden tears. Hurriedly he looked to his feet. It seemed a monstrous injustice to all the innocent people, that they should pay with their very lives for a crime they had no part of. Some, like his own kin, would probably not have any knowledge of it.

The kindly faces of his mother and father appeared before him, like reflections in a mirror. Their voices, firm, warm and knowing, sang in his head. Repeating their love, their pride and their advice that any good parent gave. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest and several silvery droplets dashed against his bare feet.

"What's the matter?" Zuberi whispered, lacing the question with scorn.

"My parents," Ishaq choked "they dwell there."

A flash of brightness flickered at the edge of Am-Heh's vision, and he looked up swiftly. He hadn't expected to see anyone else than those he had called for. Despite allowing them to bring others to aid them in their work, heavy and cumbersome it could be, very rarely did any take them up. The slaves worked hard enough as it was and would seldom take anything extra unless it offered a reward of more food or beer or chance of promotion to a paid worker.

He paused, forcefully tearing his gaze away, a hard lump choking his throat as his sharp ears caught the woeful whisper. Momentarily he forgot how to breath, his pulse and heart working steadily but air seemed to evade him.

"Fetch me some water," he ordered the nearest servant in earshot, adding to the others. "I do not want this done immediately. Wait until further notice."

The guards blinked at him, bemused by the sudden change in his demeanour. One of them coughed softly, trying to curb himself from questioning why.

One steely look from his master would have severed any words, and perhaps the tongue with it.

"Go." Am Heh moved back to sink into his seat. "I have things to consider."

Slowly the assembled servants trickled away, but Ishaq pushed by the door. ignoring the quizzical looks and cold glances as the others passed.

Silence descended on the room and Am-Heh let his head drop back, gazing at the ornate ceiling where the patterns of gold seemed to form strange faces and beings that looked back judgmentally. Faces of those he had damned, eyes of those who had known him.

All judging, all questioning.

"Condescending wretches," he muttered, snapping his fingers with a click that sounded like the bone had broken. Immediately a thin film of fireless smoke spread across the ceiling like a black curtain. "I need not deal with your thoughts."

The sensation he wasn't alone soon came over him, the chill tingle of another in the vicinity plucking the skin and the nerves.

He shifted to see Ishaq, still lingering like a lost soul on the threshold.

Their eyes connected, lingering for what felt like eternity until Ishaq's lips shifted, mouthing only two words.

'Thank you.'

----

Ishaq's fleeting steps faded away, followed by unseen eyes. From the shadows Zuberi smiled to himself, Babi's demands ever echoing in his head.

It seemed that Mandisa was not necessarily the best target to sate the Gods hunger.