In the Footsteps of Gods

[Hobbes]

In the Footsteps of Gods

I

I am dead.

I lie here, shattered upon the sifting sands of the desert. The water in my skin has retreated to my heart, the one part of myself still nourished. A thick film covers my eyes so that I cannot open them, and my throat is stretched agape, barren and parched so that I cannot speak. Soon, the condors will come and finish what is left of me, and let my bones be buried by the consuming desert, another inconsequential merchant done in by the hand of Set. Claim me. Let this misery end.

Should anyone feel this, hear my thoughts until the scorpions come.

My name was Amenakht. I was a trader of fine linens, and while quite proficient at the weaving of them, I left my beloved wife to craft the dresses and smocks herself. Her hands, like her smile, were surely blessed by Amun-Ra himself, for none in Memphis could match her talent and her love. Soon, nobles from all of Egypt, and even distant lands of Libya and Canaan were requesting our goods, and I would take my son Kamoses on the long caravan journeys to the south.

We would play games in the streets, and when the soldiers were not looking, duel in the shadowed courtyard beyond the broken temples. I trained him for the day when the sun would rise once more, and frighten these spidery subjugators back to the hell that they came from. The Hyksos invaders made life difficult, but we were strong in the bonds of family. They would come and seize our goods, and then demand taxation for what they had stolen. We had prayed to the gods for respite, but they did not answer. I grew angry. I was born under the yoke of the foreign chariot, and now I was not relinquished by those in whom I placed all my hope.

Life was good, in its raw form. Amongst the oppression, we learned to persist

And then the day came when Memphis burned.

As if lit by fire from the sky, the buildings ignited in the flames of the desperate conquerors. News of an army from Thebes storming north under the Prince Ahmose caused them to scurry in fear and flee, as their cause was hopeless and resolve pitiful compared to the might of the Egyptian warriors once again united by a great leader. But the Hyksos were to make victory bittersweet, intent on the coming armies to gain dominance over the dust of crumbled monuments and the dust of people crushed under the thunder of their horses. I fled with Pakhet and Kamoses through the city streets, desperately trying to avoid the pillaging savages. I ran too fast for them, my spirit too swift. I reached the east gate and turned to rush my family...

...and watch them be butchered by the fiends. Instead of going to them, I the coward fled into the desert where my pursuers would never follow. I travelled south in the desert with limited supplies.

And now I am here. Left to rot, the gods teach me my final lesson in fealty and devotion, as I lie motionless. I am ready to face their judgement. I am ready to die.

But you have so much life yet to live.

No! I will depart to the next life, and beg to join my family in the bliss of the fields of Yaaru. We will lie in the meadows, and speak of better times.

And you the three will be washed away in the violent sands. You may now choose to persist, achieve greatness with your sweat as mortar, and build a monument to them to stand the test of time.

What is this voice embossing my mind with these thoughts? Who speaks to me now, who comes at this most desperate of moments?

You may choose to take this next chance, and have your name scripted upon the walls of the temples for time to read, or you may be consumed by insignificance, another grain of sand bottoming the river of mortals drifting from source to mouth.

I do not believe the gods would grant me, one who turned from them in insolence, a second chance...
...open your eyes, Amenakht of Memphis...
...to coax a smile from a delighted customer as I weave for them a second shawl...
...open your eyes and see Amun-Ra cultivate the azure sky...
...to behold the monumental simulacra of the hosts of Yaaru guide me a second occasion...
...open your eyes and see the magnificence of your new home...
...to feel the cleansing waters of the Nile caress my brow and sustain me a second time...
...open your eyes and see...
...to worship the Divine Ones one more time...
...me.

She was of greater height than any female I had seen before, slender and willowy. She was born of trees children sit under for shade, sturdy enough to hold memories and supple enough to be maternal. Her clothing was made of wind and her hair made of water. Two translucent sigils bathed in flame hovered gently above her head, hieroglyphs reflecting her name. Her palms bore the same symbols tattooed by the ink of Thoth, god of wisdom, and they spelled “Nephthys.”

Goddess of Health and Love...

save me...

[Hobbes]

II

The crowds thickened after the midday sun had waned, and Shefati meandered through them like a stream spiritedly dodging rocks. Tomorrow marked the first anniversary of the reign of the new Pharaoh Amenhotep, and her Order called all the flock to them to prepare for the festivities.

The temple was away from the bustle of the centre-city, though the impressive limestone building did attract the awe and wonder of many who looked upon it. Shefati knew the inflection people used when conversing with her. Their eyes would dart to her necklace and their bodies would tense responsively. Priestesses of Isis, the Magician-women of the night, were very well respected. The secrecy of their Order did provoke some degree of wariness amongst the populace of Thebes, but she was used to this. Isis taught that there was glory in devotion.

The sun rises in the morning, and sets in the evening. What more to life than this is the devotion to this. The plants twist to face the sun and sleep when it leaves them. Like children, they rustle gaily when their master returns from battling the serpent which seeks to consume all.

The temple was quiet. Shefati rushed up the stairwell to meet her peers, slinking quietly into the chamber of the priesthood unheard. The room was dark, lit only by the words of the High Priestess, and the faith that shone like moonlight from the bosoms of Isis’ believers.

See the creatures of day and the creatures of night, how both know their time and place. A time to rest and a time to hunt, a time to find shelter and a time to protect it. We are the daughters and sons of Amun-Ra, aware like the flora and fauna of our time and place. If this was not so, then chaos would come the victor.

Shefati called upon her mentor, “But which are we, Mother? Creatures of day or night?” She could hear the rustle of the priesthood’s hoods rise in curiosity with their heads in tow.

A soft chuckle came from the centre of the room, “Ah... my Shefati enters late and is the one to ask the most compelling of questions.” Shefati heard the High Priestess shuffle up to her, and yet her voice seemed to emanate from somewhere distant. “Have you seen those who come out solely in the night? Those who avoid the gaze of Amun-Ra? They live fruitful lives, achieve happiness and desperation as much as those who choose to admire His glory. So indeed, are we creatures of day or night?”

A pause lingered in the air.

“I want you to go out now, away from this place, and see by sun and by moon if we are creatures of night or of day.”

We are sustained by the Nile and the sun, the mother and father. We spring forth from the first and are guided by the second. Follow the first and not the second, and you are lost. Follow the second and not the first, and you are weak. Strive to reach the balance of Nile and sun, and worry not that the balance is you.

Shefati wandered the city until her feet began to sting. She looked forth and fro, at the activities around her, and the multitude of faces expressing all manner of emotions. There is much to read from a face that does not know it is being observed. Mothers bought their children little toys carved from sycamore wood, and fathers bought the gazelles hanging in the shade to prepare for dinner. The priests of Thoth were about purchasing papyrus for their scrolls, and several sentries patrolled the city, apparently looking for a thief of a stone idol. So much action, and yet this would all occur again at night. Though the bazaar stands would be closed, surely the young men and women would retire to the public house for beer, the weavers fulfilling orders for the next day, and the tax collectors distributing luxuries to the temples. We are more active by day, but still we cannot survive without our action by night. Evil exists by night, but surely it is folly to ignore the evil that exists in the light of day...

Shefati strolled the city for answers, turning to the southeast district of the city. When she came upon the vacant Morning Square, it was the dead of night. She was not at all nervous that she would fail her duty to her Order by not answering the High Priestess’ question. Isis would provide her with the opportunity to learn.

A few moments passed, the moon travelled in the midnight sky, and a beggar hobbled into the square. Obfuscated by her dark cloak, Shefati observed this man from the shadows. He was a dishevelled, broken man clad in a ragged loincloth. He had growth of natural hair, it matted and unkept.

“Why do you stand in the shadows, priestess?” She raised an eyebrow in surprise, “You can see me? How?”

He snorted slightly, “I choose to look. I have spent much of my life doing as you do now, staring from shadows and back into them again.”
“I seek an answer to a question.”
“And what is the question?”
“Are we children of the sun or the moon? Are we creatures of night or of day?”

His voice danced in chuckles and vicious rasps that slithered off his tongue like a simpering asp, but behind the facade of this ragged man lay a wisdom Shefati needed to probe. She motioned for him to go on. “Why, the sun of course. There is a reason Amun-Ra is perched high above us.”

“I have been wandering these streets for the day and evening now, and have seen activity in both periods and those in between. Surely you cannot simply discount this...” she retorted. He gestured in interruption, such a crass action for this lowly man.

“Does the serpent not grow cold under the desert moon? Do we not remain warm?” His voice grew bolder as each syllable climbed over the next. He straightened the contracture in his back, and gazed at her with a piercing resolve absent just moments before. “The fire of Amun-Ra is always within us, empowering us, allowing us to continue our life. When he chooses, it is removed and we pass on.”

The question remains: will you fuel it, or stifle it?