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2180 B.C.E.
Golden particles piled in waves, shifting in the wind and baking in the Egyptian sun. The small contingent of men pushed through the suffocating heat as they began their four-hour march south from Siwa. Surero led them away from the safety of the green oasis and into the rolling sands where his adversary waited. After a few thousand khet, he planned to send his sons back to safety.
The burning sun seemed closer to the sand than usual, forcing Surero and his sons to hunch over in submission. Unaccustomed to sandals, Surero felt a blister rupture between his toes. He preferred to walk barefoot, but the fiery sand would have cooked through the thick calluses on his feet. Despite the pain they caused he smiled, recalling the look of pleasure on his wife’s face as she made them by twisting reeds and grass. Amleilah did not want Surero to go or to take their four sons, so his acquiescence to wear the sandals she made was a profound gesture. That didn’t quell her fears, but such was often the case with the pair—she had learned to seize victory from the small acts.
Surero stopped moving and adjusted the cloth of his nemes so he could better see the horizon. Dark, unnatural clouds roiled in the distance.
“Father, rain? Here? Surely Min blesses us,” said Surero’s oldest son.
The old myths seemed so distasteful to Surero. He’d learned the truth from one of them, a powerful being who called herself Ozara. She told him the gods had lied to his people. She denied being a god, but Surero knew better. Hair like fire, pure white skin, incomparable beauty, and immense power, she was surely a goddess. Ozara found him when he started a fire using his thoughts.
From the time Surero was a young man, he knew he was different than most. He could bring a breeze by asking for it. He could find water in the desert when others could not. A stonecutter by trade, Surero felt a connection with his medium. Every chisel mark cut exactly where he wanted it—yet his soft copper tools never seemed to dull.
Ozara told him he was connected to the elements unlike any other human. She taught him to do more, and eventually she confided the greatest secret. The substance she showed him, green and ethereal, could do anything he desired. She warned him that Ra and the other gods would be angry if they knew he possessed their power, so he hid it.
Despite being content to labor by day, Ozara ensured that Surero prospered and became wealthy. She had always been kind to him, and he trusted her, so when she said her life was in danger from the gods, he pledged himself into her service. It was she who had directed him to walk into the desert with his sons. She told him exactly what he needed to do to eliminate the threat, but she also asked him to do the impossible. On faith alone he followed her commands, but how could he, a simple stonecutter, kill a god?
Though Ozara’s request seemed impossible, and it bothered Surero to bring his sons along, he had given the orange-haired goddess his word. Surero never broke his word. Still, something unsettled him. He felt the danger in his chest.
“No, my son. This is not Min’s doing, but that is where I must go.” Surero’s brown eyes scanned the storm, which had spread across the western horizon. “It is the sign the goddess Ozara foretold. You, Suren, must now take your brothers back, as she said.”
“Father,” Suren began, “should we not accompany you the entire distance?”
“No, Son, you must do as I say—do as she commanded. I will return. Ozara has given her oath.”
Surero turned and watched his sons retreat across the dunes before he set off toward the storm. When he closed half the distance, Ozara materialized next to him. She looked confident, and that put his nerves to rest.
Suren peered over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the silvery woman with flaming hair. She led his father toward the swirling black clouds that lay against the desert surface. Bright flashes of green energy collided, dispersing the storm cloud. Suren’s hair stood on end when the discharges began rolling over him and his brothers. Sal, the youngest, began running across the sand. Suren’s middle brothers, Sabis and Seriph, did not run. Suren shouted at Sal to come back, but overcome with fear, the eleven-year-old kept running.
Suren twisted his head back toward the storm to see the winds whipping up columns of fire as tall as mountains. Terror gripped him—how could his father survive? Instinct told him to flee, but his heart told him to find his father. Suren was always one to listen to his heart, but before he’d taken a step, Sal screamed. Suren watched helplessly as his youngest brother cowered in the sand, his hands raised in supplication. A monstrous beast towered over him.
Suren cried, “Anubis,” and rubbed his eyes in the hope the terrible omen would vanish when he opened them again.
The beast turned his jackal-like head toward the three brothers and growled, “You’re next.” Sal floated off the desert surface, squirming in Anubis’ invisible grip. The jackal-faced beast pulled young Sal in half, splitting him at the navel. Anubis flung the parts into the sand and marched toward Suren and his brothers.
His knees weak and his mind in a grief-induced haze, Suren stumbled in front of them, pulling a bronze dagger from his belt.
“Brave, but futile,” Anubis howled. In a flash of flesh and fur, he lunged at Suren, but fell at the boys’ feet and stared up at a small brown-skinned man in golden robes who slowly materialized over him. The little man’s outstretched hand gripped Anubis’ beating heart with steely fingers.
Anubis gasped one last breath, and muttered, “Bastien.” Following a brilliant flash, Anubis was gone.
In shaking hands, Suren pointed his blade at the small man, and wept as he stole a glance at Sal’s remains.
“You have no need for that,” Bastien said. The blade turned to sand and crumbled out of Suren’s grasp. “I am here to save you. We must collect your mother.”
“My father—” Suren started.
A bright flash of white light cut his words short. The storm began to disperse, the cloud growing lighter by the moment.
“Your father is dead. There is nothing I can do for him. I am sorry.”
Tears streamed down Suren’s face. He tried to move toward the disappearing storm, but something powerful locked him into place.
“Your father has destroyed Ra, and ended a great war. He has saved all mankind from a terrible fate, but sacrificed himself in the process. Your father was brave, and now you must be brave. I fear it is essential for his line to continue. Both sides in the conflict will try to eliminate you. Anubis was sent for that reason. They will send others.”
“Who,” Suren choked out, “The gods?”
“They are not gods, Suren. They are Fae, and your bloodline poses a risk to them. We must leave now.”
Bastien compelled calmness and hid the brothers in a cloak of Water and Air, rendering them invisible to Fae and human alike. After collecting their mother, Amleilah, Bastien compelled each to forget what they had seen, implanting in each the desire to survive and continue the family bloodline.
Hidden from the clans, the family prospered through the dark century that preceded the rise of the Middle Kingdom of Egypt.
The burning sun seemed closer to the sand than usual, forcing Surero and his sons to hunch over in submission. Unaccustomed to sandals, Surero felt a blister rupture between his toes. He preferred to walk barefoot, but the fiery sand would have cooked through the thick calluses on his feet. Despite the pain they caused he smiled, recalling the look of pleasure on his wife’s face as she made them by twisting reeds and grass. Amleilah did not want Surero to go or to take their four sons, so his acquiescence to wear the sandals she made was a profound gesture. That didn’t quell her fears, but such was often the case with the pair—she had learned to seize victory from the small acts.
Surero stopped moving and adjusted the cloth of his nemes so he could better see the horizon. Dark, unnatural clouds roiled in the distance.
“Father, rain? Here? Surely Min blesses us,” said Surero’s oldest son.
The old myths seemed so distasteful to Surero. He’d learned the truth from one of them, a powerful being who called herself Ozara. She told him the gods had lied to his people. She denied being a god, but Surero knew better. Hair like fire, pure white skin, incomparable beauty, and immense power, she was surely a goddess. Ozara found him when he started a fire using his thoughts.
From the time Surero was a young man, he knew he was different than most. He could bring a breeze by asking for it. He could find water in the desert when others could not. A stonecutter by trade, Surero felt a connection with his medium. Every chisel mark cut exactly where he wanted it—yet his soft copper tools never seemed to dull.
Ozara told him he was connected to the elements unlike any other human. She taught him to do more, and eventually she confided the greatest secret. The substance she showed him, green and ethereal, could do anything he desired. She warned him that Ra and the other gods would be angry if they knew he possessed their power, so he hid it.
Despite being content to labor by day, Ozara ensured that Surero prospered and became wealthy. She had always been kind to him, and he trusted her, so when she said her life was in danger from the gods, he pledged himself into her service. It was she who had directed him to walk into the desert with his sons. She told him exactly what he needed to do to eliminate the threat, but she also asked him to do the impossible. On faith alone he followed her commands, but how could he, a simple stonecutter, kill a god?
Though Ozara’s request seemed impossible, and it bothered Surero to bring his sons along, he had given the orange-haired goddess his word. Surero never broke his word. Still, something unsettled him. He felt the danger in his chest.
“No, my son. This is not Min’s doing, but that is where I must go.” Surero’s brown eyes scanned the storm, which had spread across the western horizon. “It is the sign the goddess Ozara foretold. You, Suren, must now take your brothers back, as she said.”
“Father,” Suren began, “should we not accompany you the entire distance?”
“No, Son, you must do as I say—do as she commanded. I will return. Ozara has given her oath.”
Surero turned and watched his sons retreat across the dunes before he set off toward the storm. When he closed half the distance, Ozara materialized next to him. She looked confident, and that put his nerves to rest.
Suren peered over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of the silvery woman with flaming hair. She led his father toward the swirling black clouds that lay against the desert surface. Bright flashes of green energy collided, dispersing the storm cloud. Suren’s hair stood on end when the discharges began rolling over him and his brothers. Sal, the youngest, began running across the sand. Suren’s middle brothers, Sabis and Seriph, did not run. Suren shouted at Sal to come back, but overcome with fear, the eleven-year-old kept running.
Suren twisted his head back toward the storm to see the winds whipping up columns of fire as tall as mountains. Terror gripped him—how could his father survive? Instinct told him to flee, but his heart told him to find his father. Suren was always one to listen to his heart, but before he’d taken a step, Sal screamed. Suren watched helplessly as his youngest brother cowered in the sand, his hands raised in supplication. A monstrous beast towered over him.
Suren cried, “Anubis,” and rubbed his eyes in the hope the terrible omen would vanish when he opened them again.
The beast turned his jackal-like head toward the three brothers and growled, “You’re next.” Sal floated off the desert surface, squirming in Anubis’ invisible grip. The jackal-faced beast pulled young Sal in half, splitting him at the navel. Anubis flung the parts into the sand and marched toward Suren and his brothers.
His knees weak and his mind in a grief-induced haze, Suren stumbled in front of them, pulling a bronze dagger from his belt.
“Brave, but futile,” Anubis howled. In a flash of flesh and fur, he lunged at Suren, but fell at the boys’ feet and stared up at a small brown-skinned man in golden robes who slowly materialized over him. The little man’s outstretched hand gripped Anubis’ beating heart with steely fingers.
Anubis gasped one last breath, and muttered, “Bastien.” Following a brilliant flash, Anubis was gone.
In shaking hands, Suren pointed his blade at the small man, and wept as he stole a glance at Sal’s remains.
“You have no need for that,” Bastien said. The blade turned to sand and crumbled out of Suren’s grasp. “I am here to save you. We must collect your mother.”
“My father—” Suren started.
A bright flash of white light cut his words short. The storm began to disperse, the cloud growing lighter by the moment.
“Your father is dead. There is nothing I can do for him. I am sorry.”
Tears streamed down Suren’s face. He tried to move toward the disappearing storm, but something powerful locked him into place.
“Your father has destroyed Ra, and ended a great war. He has saved all mankind from a terrible fate, but sacrificed himself in the process. Your father was brave, and now you must be brave. I fear it is essential for his line to continue. Both sides in the conflict will try to eliminate you. Anubis was sent for that reason. They will send others.”
“Who,” Suren choked out, “The gods?”
“They are not gods, Suren. They are Fae, and your bloodline poses a risk to them. We must leave now.”
Bastien compelled calmness and hid the brothers in a cloak of Water and Air, rendering them invisible to Fae and human alike. After collecting their mother, Amleilah, Bastien compelled each to forget what they had seen, implanting in each the desire to survive and continue the family bloodline.
Hidden from the clans, the family prospered through the dark century that preceded the rise of the Middle Kingdom of Egypt.
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EPISODE 4: THE SECOND BATTLE OF THE AETHERFAE
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Copyright © 2014 Christopher Shields.
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