Chapter Eighteen: Revelations part two

 

 

***

 

“Menmet,” the voice called.

 

He stopped in his tracks.  “I would speak with you,” Ardeth said pointedly.

 

Menmet sighed.  He could not refuse the request of the leader of his tribe, even if he was his best friend.

 

He stepped into Ardeth’s tent, waiting expectantly.

 

Silence.  Suddenly, Ardeth exploded.  “What do you think you are doing?”

 

Menmet was taken aback.  “What?” he asked.  “What are you talking about?”

 

Ardeth gave him an exasperated look.  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

 

“If you’re talking about the Princess I can assure you that–”

 

“I can assure you that it will end badly,” Ardeth interrupted.  Menmet opened his mouth as though to counter his friend’s claim, but Ardeth walked over and placed his hands on Menmet’s shoulders, silencing him.  “We have been best friends since we ran about this camp as boys, playing with wooden swords,” he began, searching his friend’s eyes.  “I say this not as leader of the Med Jai but as your friend.  However much you love each other, you can never marry.  And it will just hurt both of you further.”

 

Menmet stepped back.  “Everything you say I already know.  I know that we cannot marry, I know that she will probably marry Ramses herself.  But I have no choice!”

 

Ardeth shook his head.  “You always have a choice, my brother.”

 

“Then you have never been truly in love, my friend,” Menmet replied.  He paced around the small tent.  “Ardeth,” he began, trying to explain.  “I think about her every moment of every day.  I dream about her.  It is torture not being able to touch her.”

 

“You are in love,” Ardeth said, “but you must come back to your senses.  If Seti found out–or Ramses–you could be banished or even killed.  And I could not live with myself if that happened.”

 

Menmet sighed.  “You think I want to die?” he asked pointedly.  Ardeth shook his head.

 

“If we truly cannot ever be together, then this is all the time we have.  A few months, maybe a year, before she is married.  For a lifetime of love, all we are given are these few moments.  And you would ask me to give them up?”

 

“You sound like a poet,” he commented dryly.

 

Menmet nodded, a shadow of a smile playing across his features.  “She has made a desert warrior a poet,” he said softly, acknowledging her power over him.  “She makes me a better person, Ardeth.”

 

His old friend nodded, sighing, understanding his friend’s passionate and stubborn nature.  “Then go to her in peace, brother.  But know that when the time comes, you must give her up and do your duty to your people.”

 

Menmet lowered his head.  “My duty to my people is the only thing that stops me from taking her and running away from this place forever.”

 

The two men locked eyes.  And in Menmet’s searingly blue eyes, for a brief moment, Ardeth saw a glimpse of the future.  Whether it was this life or another they would live together, he did not know.  But in those familiar eyes, eyes he would recognize in any lifetime, Ardeth saw only pain, and loss, and death.

 

***

 

Rick sat up abruptly, shaking his head as he tried to clear the dream from his mind.

 

That was the third dream this week.  He had been having these visions for over a month now.

 

Up to this point, they had all been of Evy–Nefertiri, he corrected himself.  This was the first time he had seen anyone but his love.  But all the visions were from the same lifetime, his past life as a Med Jai.  Rick was sure of it.

 

His memories of another lifetime were returning to him, claiming their rightful place next to his heart. 

 

His memories of Evy–Nefertiri–were almost always the same.  They were in a dark hallway, an empty guest chamber, a hidden section of the palace gardens.  It was the beginning of their love, before the death of her father.  It was a joyous and simple time.  Those memories were pleasurable, and for Rick, in many ways, inspiring.  Their pure and honest love from the past gave him hope for the future.

 

But this was why his new memory of Ardeth startled him so.  It was the first discordant note in his otherwise harmonious memories.  What came later? he wondered.  What happened to us after the death of her father?

 

He stretched his sore muscles, leaned forward to stretch out his back.  His bronze skin gleamed softly in the dim light as he tried to make out what time it was.  The air was cool against his flesh, and he decided that it must be right before dawn.  The sky was a rich cobalt blue, the color it becomes just before the sun breaks the horizon line.

 

As the men around him began to turn and slowly shake themselves awake, Rick sat silently, as ancient feelings washed over him, as vivid in that moment as they had been three millennia ago.  In his mind he once again saw Evy–except that it was not Evy, it was the darker, younger woman he had loved long ago.  She had been borne of royalty, she came from another time and went by another name.  But it was Evy.  His soul recognized hers, recognized the essence of the woman he loved.  He allowed himself, in the rising light, to drift again into memory...

 

***

 

“Menmet,” the soft voice whispered out of the darkness, and the Med Jai had to squint his eyes to make out her form in the dim light.

 

“Nefertiri?” he questioned, even as she grabbed his arm and pulled him into the small room.  Once inside, she lit two small candles, and the flickering light danced across the planes of her delicate features.

 

“What is this place?” he wondered, taking her small hands in his own rough ones.

 

“My serving woman sleeps here, but she told me no one ever comes here after dusk.  She will not be back for hours.”

 

He looked at her, concern showing in his dark blue eyes.  “Can she be trusted with our secret?”

 

Nefertiri smiled impishly, leaning towards him.  “I trust her.  Will you trust my judgement, Med Jai?”

 

He smiled down at her, his heart melting into a puddle before her eyes.  “I suppose I will have to, Princess.”

 

She smiled again, but the mirth was gone, replaced with desire, with longing, and a true vulnerability.  “I love you,” she said, looking up into his eyes, deep and bottomless as a reflecting pool.

 

His throat tightened, looking down at this woman who, against all reason, had dared to love him.  He raised his hand and brought it down slowly on her shiny hair, black as the night that surrounded them in its intimate embrace.

 

“And I love you.  Forever.”

 

***

“Get going!” the oozing mummy ordered, cracking his whip against the wooden door of the barracks.  Rick sighed, coming out of the vision, the vivid image fading away into dawn before his tired eyes.  The men hastily finished dressing, shuffling quickly outside into the early morning.  Rick forced the memories from his mind.  He would think upon them later.  Now it was time to work.

 

***

 

That night, after Anjelica had made her way over to the men’s section of the camp, Rick told her about the most recent of the dreams, the one involving Ardeth.  She believed him unconditionally, and had listened, fascinated, these last few weeks as he had begun describing his former lifetime.

 

Tonight, as Rick finished describing his latest vision, she gave a low whistle.

 

“It seems that your past is becoming more complicated,” she offered, with a wry twist of her lips.

 

He nodded, giving her a half smile that did not reach his eyes, a look of exhaustion and uncertainty.  “I had never seen Ardeth before.  When he told me that we were brothers in spirit, I did not believe him.”  Rick glanced down at the tattoo on his wrist, the black depiction of the two kings and the pyramid perfect in their symmetry.  He gently rubbed his thumb over the indelible image, as though to make sure it would not rub off under his touch.  “But we were indeed Med Jai in the past.  We were best friends, as close as brothers.”

 

Anjelica nodded, allowing Rick his time to come to terms with this new information.

 

“But why now?” he asked, looking up into his friend’s warm brown eyes.  “I am 36 years old.  I have faced Imhotep twice before.  Twice I have fought with him, twice I have sent him back to his grave.  And not once have I had an inking of my previous life.”

 

He searched her eyes for the answer.

 

She only looked back at him, thinking, massaging her lower lip with her teeth.

 

“I have never remembered who I was.  Even when Evy had her visions, I felt no connection to her ancient past.”  He paused again, looking out into the vast expanse of sand, a dark ocean of rolling dunes that stretched forever into the night.  “Why, suddenly, now, are these memories coming back?”

 

The two sat in companionable silence, each thinking over Rick’s question, the problem that had been plaguing him since the visions had begun, imbuing themselves into his mind, as some part of his inner soul forced him to remember who he had been.

 

Anjelica tilted her head, looking back at Rick, as a thought struck her.  “You said that Evy was raised from the dead by your son?”

 

Rick nodded impatiently, knowing that she already knew this part of the story.

 

She hesitantly continued.  “And she saved her brother’s life by fighting Anck-su-namun in the ancient way?”

 

Rick nodded slowly.  “They fought in the ancient style, with the same weapons they had fought with as teacher and pupil, as concubine and Princess.”

 

Anjelica paused, thinking, chewing a strand of her brown hair as she furrowed her brow in concentration.  “Perhaps Evy began having visions, remembering her past, because she needed to.  She needed to remember how she had fought Anck-su-namun in the past so that she could do it again, in the present, when it mattered.”

 

“You’re right,” he slowly breathed.  “Remembering the past helped us to defeat Imhotep last time.  Perhaps these memories will give me the clues I need to defeat him once again.”

 

Anjelica leaned forward, her eyes shining with discovery and hope.  “The Gods have given you your memories back,” she whispered, her eyes full of wonder as she searched the face of her friend.  “Don’t you see, Rick?   Soon, you will be needed.  You will be called upon to fight the Priest again.  You are being prepared for your role in his downfall.”

 

If Rick had not seen and done all he had in his relatively short life, he would not have believed her.  But her words rang true.  Deep in his heart, in his soul, he knew she was right.

 

His question was answered.  Times were changing.  Soon, he would be needed.  And to defeat Imhotep, he needed to know the truth about himself.  He needed to remember who he had been.

 

As he stood to return to the barracks to get some sleep, a whisper in the breeze, in the gentle wind that caressed his sun burnt skin, made him pause.  The words that floated past his ears were words directly from the book, the black book that should have been gone from the world forever.  They whispered to him truth...The gods hide behind the veil of nothingness, listening.  Though they hear men call in their troubles, they come not; yet silent, beyond the veil their shining fingers move, weaving the cloth of destinies.  Even great gods are bound by law not to interfere with a man’s own becoming...

 

And Rick understood.

 

They had given him the instruments for victory.  But the fate of the world, the fate of himself and his family–triumph or defeat–was in his hands.

 

***

 

Later that night, as he readied himself for sleep, Rick sighed.  He lay back down on his “bed,” which was nothing more than some straw over a stone slab, trying to make himself comfortable.  But even as he lay down, he could feel himself drifting into trance, the memories awaiting him like spirits in the dark.

 

He sagged, allowing them to float unhindered into his consciousness.  What new revelations will this one bring? he thought wryly to himself, just before the memory took hold of him, a living thing, angry and potent, ready to be useful to its master once more.

 

***

 

Anck-su-namun sat, curled up on the ledge overlooking the palace gardens.  Her gauze wrap floated gently about her firm body, her dark hair gleamed against her coppery skin.

 

Menmet walked quickly towards the gardens, eagerly awaiting his few moments each day with the Princess, his love.  Passing Anck-su-namun, he stopped, bowing his head and giving her the customary greeting.  “Lady,” he said, bowing quickly.

 

Anck-su-namun turned towards him with a wistful smile.  “I have seen you with her, Med Jai.”

 

Menmet froze.  She was Seti’s creature, a concubine, and it was no secret that she and the Princess were not friends.

 

“From right here?” he asked, distress creeping into his voice.  They had been so careful to hide their love!

 

She smiled gently.  “Yes.  But I will guard your secret well, Med Jai.”

 

He breathed a sigh of relief.  “Why?” he asked bluntly.

 

She sighed and turned away, looking out into the gardens.  “She awaits you now, sitting by the pool.”  She sighed, jealousy entering her voice.  “You are lucky, warrior.”

 

Menmet moved towards Seti’s favorite concubine, a woman he had hardly ever looked at, least of all spoken to.  She was off-limits to all men, and he was in love.  But suddenly he wondered about her as a person, as he had never before.

 

“Lucky?” he asked doubtfully, leaning up against the wall, a mere three feet from her.  “We see each other for only a few minutes a day.  And if we are caught, I could be stripped of my title, banished from my people and my home, even killed.”

 

“A few minutes a day is a blessing,” she responded, looking down at Nefertiri, awaiting him below, ignorant of the conversation just twenty feet above her.  “Count yourself lucky Med Jai, and remember this: there may come a time when our aims are the same.”

 

He frowned.  “What do you mean?”

 

She smiled, a smile of hidden secrets.  “I am no fortune teller.  But there may come a time when you will hate Seti as much as I.”

 

He stared at her, shocked she would utter such blasphemy to him.  “How can you speak such?” he said, aghast.

 

She spoke sharply, for the first time.  “Do not act so surprised.  Do you too look down on me Med Jai?  See me as nothing but a common whore?”

 

He looked away, silently admitting to her accusation.  “Not common, my lady.”

 

At that she gave a mirthless laugh.  “Yes, uncommon.  My beauty is my curse.”  She paused, looking him deep into his eyes.  “I am indeed his whore.  There is no other word for my life.  But you give you and your people fancy names for the same truth.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked agitatedly moving towards her.

 

“We are both his whores.  We both serve his depraved whims for wealth and power.  Is it not true, Med Jai?”

 

Menmet took a step back, shocked at her accusation.  “We are doing our duty to protect the upper and lower kingdoms.  Without our protection, there would be no stability in the empire.  Pharaohs would come and go as flowers in the wind.  Do you not understand?”

 

Anck-su-namun considered his words.  “So one Pharaoh is the same as another?”

 

“To us, yes,” he replied.

 

She gave him a small smile.  “Forgive my blasphemy, Med Jai.  You are pure of heart.  You truly believe what you say.”  She paused.  “I take you into my confidence because I know you will not betray me.  I know your secret, so you can be trusted with mine.”

 

He took another step back.  “I know not what you are suggesting, Lady.”

 

She laughed.  “Do not be so naive!  It is only this.  A time may come when I am your enemy, as much as you are now my friend.  A time may come when you will be forced to kill me, as much as you are now supposed to protect my life.”

 

“If you obey your Pharaoh then that day shall never come,” Menmet said, trying to reason with her.

 

She smiled sadly.  “A day will come when that will not be possible.  I do not know when or how, warrior, but I will not live like this forever.  So hear me now.  In return for my secrecy, you will make me a promise.”

 

He shifted his weight, unwilling to give his word so easily.  “What promise?”

“Only this: that when that day comes that I speak of, you will treat me and my beloved with mercy.  That is all I ask.”

 

He looked at her closely.  “Mercy comes in many forms.”

 

She smiled.  “Yes, I know.  But remember this promise Med Jai, as you go to your lover.  And when that day comes, when you learn of my story, remember the happiness you had in Nefertiri’s arms, and the desperation you faced at being torn from her.  And when you remember that, you will too remember this promise.  And you will be merciful.”

 

“As much as I can,” he said, bowing to her words.

 

She nodded.  “So swear on the memory of your ancestors, Med Jai, those who you worship as if they were Gods.”

 

He swore before her.

 

She gave him a sad smile.  “You see Med Jai, I am doomed.  Go to your love.  And be happy.”

 

He looked up at her.  “I feel as though you have blessed me.”

 

She looked at him.  “I suppose in my own way, I have.  But you have found your love.  You have already been duly blessed.”

 

He bowed his head to her.  And without another word, he walked away, to Nefertiri, to hold her in his arms.

 

***

 

Rick shook himself free of the memory, which seemed to grasp at him physically with bony fingers.

 

He recovered from the dream, his main reaction simple surprise.  He had never imagined that he had some kind of connection to the woman he had known only with hate, the woman who had killed his wife.  But perhaps, as they all were, she had been different in her previous life.

 

“I promised Anck-su-namun mercy,” he murmured to himself, recalling the bizarre content of their ancient conversation.

 

And that revelation loosened the dam of history, and a flood of memories poured over Rick.  A lifetime of love and loss and pain and death washed over him, the legion of memories clamoring for attention, all throwing themselves into his consciousness.  He saw his former life flash before his eyes in a matter of moments.

 

The images of times long past flooded his mind, one after the other, each following the previous one in quick succession.  They changed as quickly as they had come, each unique, each revealing another aspect of the life he had yet to fully remember.

 

He saw himself, as a young boy, running through the camp, staring in awe as the warriors–his father included–prepared for battle.  Then, himself again, but he was older, no longer a boy.  He was learning to use a scimitar, to move the blade crisply through the air, to slice it downwards so that it could kill a man.  He saw himself and Ardeth laughing together, confiding in each other, Ardeth who was the son of the Med Jai leader.  They both knew that he would be chieftain someday.  But that did not matter.  First and foremost they were best friends, they were brothers.

 

Then time shifted, and he saw Nefertiri, as he had many times before, smiling at him from across a crowded banquet hall, when their relationship was nothing more than flirtation and possibility.  He sensed that he was older, that he carried his weapon now with precision and grace, that he now rode with the warriors he once admired from afar.  He saw Nefertiri holding his hands, caressing his cheek, pressing her soft lips to his in her innocent desire, in her selfless love.

 

Then the colors melted and dissolved, and he was looking at Anck-su-namun, Seti’s mistress, sitting on the balcony.  That had been the first–and last–time he had ever spoken to her.  And suddenly the high Priest Imhotep was there, and Rick was shocked to feel the benevolence in the ancient emotions.  He felt respect, and admiration, and an awe for the Priest’s skill in healing.  What happened to the old Imhotep? Rick wondered.  Who is the Imhotep who I know in this lifetime?  But the memories seized control of his mind once again, wrenching away his thoughts and plunging him into the cold depths of ancient memory.

 

Vision recoiled, then expanded again, as he saw his Princess cry out as she threw herself over her balcony.  He watched as he pulled her to safety, as they held each other, each mourning, consumed in their own internal pain.  Hers was borne of loss, for the death of a man she loved.  His was borne from failure, the knowledge that his brothers had failed utterly in protecting the Pharaoh, the god’s messenger on earth.

 

That image dropped suddenly away, and once again, the visions changed course, and the memories pressed close to Rick, hot and oppressive.  Now, many years had passed, and he saw before him a great army.  But it was not the army of Ramses, but the army of another, a challenger to the power of Egypt.  He saw himself fight with reckless abandon, knowing that he did not care if he lived or died.

 

Time once again shifted, and he was again at the palace in Thebes.  Ramses was placing a medal of honor about his neck, for glory and honor in battle.  Nefertiri was next to her brother, and below her were the children, the two young boys who should have been his own.  As he bowed and thanked his Pharaoh, he met Nefertiri’s eyes.  Time stopped, the memory stilled, captured as a silent photograph, and the look that crossed her eyes seared into his soul.  Her look was one of unmatched pride, ceaseless yearning, and, ultimately, an enduring sorrow.

 

And then came his final memories: his last battle, the army yelling and baying for blood all around him.  The last charge through the desert, horses kicking up sand, men shouting and drawing their swords and preparing to fight to the death.

 

He had never felt more calm, more sure of what he wanted to do.  He took his hand, gently, from the hilt of his scimitar, placing both hands in the wild mane of his mount.  The feel of the wind rushing through his hair, the horse galloping, its elegant muscles straining beneath him–he had never felt more free.  He would finally be free of the pain of this life: the utter loss, futile anger, and ceaseless suffering.

 

And then the memory of his last moment came to him, as he saw the nameless man charge toward him, the man who would take his life.  He had no name and no face, and in the end, it did not matter.  He was the enemy, the savage warrior.  But in the twisted tapestry of their lives this man also became an avenging angel, a bringer of mercy, the promise of a quick and painless death. 

 

As the man’s sword, curved and glistening in the morning light, began to take his life, Rick–or was it Menmet?–or was it some other entity, encompassing both?–thought of Nefertiri.  Her face rose in his mind, but behind the familiar visage he saw other faces, similar but each distinct, the faces of the other women she would become.  As the blade entered his flesh, his last thought seared through his mind...I will recognize you again, I will find you, my love...someday...

 

 

***

 

Finally, the ancient memories loosened their grip, and Rick shook free, falling back exhausted onto the straw.  He sighed, forcing his body to relax, the grip of the past slackening, its hold on his mind and soul lessening with each passing moment.

 

Now he understood why he had always felt guilty when he was in Nefertiri’s arms, why they had been unable to stay together, to be lovers even after she married.  Every time he held her he remembered the fate of Anck-su-namun and Imhotep–who had loved each other with such intensity they had dared to spit in the faces of the gods.  Everytime he held Nefertiri he remembered how Anck-su-namun had sent him into her arms, to have what she could not, and would never, have.

 

So he had promised Imhotep and Anck-su-namun mercy and had not been able to deliver on his sworn words.  He had played no part in Imhotep’s punishment–he had stayed at the palace with Nefertiri while his brothers–led by Ardeth–laid the eternal curses upon the Priest’s soul.  So while he had played no role in their damnation, he had not stepped forward to give them whatever respite he could.

 

Would the consequences of his promise be exacted from him in this lifetime?  He did not yet know.

 

It had been a long day, and the rush of ancient memories had overwhelmed him, exhausted his mortal body.  Eager to sleep away his weariness, Rick laid his head on his upper arm.  Sleep usually came easily here, and tonight was no exception.  Rick’s eyelids closed, lowering heavily over his raw eyes.  Sleep was his respite, where he could forget the pain of his daily life, his loss and anger and frustration and fear.

 

But even in sleep he was plagued.  For in sleep came more disjointed dreams, and glimpses of the past, and half formed memories.

 

***

 

Menmet entered the hallway just as Imhotep emerged from one of the huge reception rooms.  Two slaves closed the great golden doors as Imhotep strode towards him.

 

“Med Jai,” he was greeted unceremoniously.

 

“High Priest,” Menmet responded.  Although he respected Imhotep and his work in the temple, there was always something a little sinister about him.  Menmet shrugged it off.

 

“Will you be at the feast tonight?” Imhotep asked carelessly, straightening his black robe.

 

“I believe so,” he began, but as he spoke he heard chattering voices down the hall.  Both men turned to see Nefertiri and her hand maidens appear, swathed in white and gold.

 

Nefertiri glided up to the two men.  “High Priest,” she said nodding to him, a friendly smile on her face.  But when she turned to Menmet, she could not help herself from smiling a more intimate, personal smile.  “Med Jai,” she greeted, before tearing her eyes away.  “I shall see you both tonight, shall I not?” she asked, returning her gaze to Imhotep.

 

The Priest put his arm across her shoulders in a fatherly way.  “Of course, my lady,” he teased her.  And for a moment, time seemed to stop and blur, and Menmet once again saw Imhotep and Nefertiri in front of him.  His hands were on her, but they seemed to be holding her in a cold, possessive embrace.  And her hair was different: long and brown and wavy.  But the biggest change was her eyes.  She was afraid.

 

But the vision blurred again, and he was once again facing Imhotep and Nefertiri, looking as they always had.  What had he seen? Menmet wondered.

 

She shrugged his arm off, still smiling.  “Goodbye then, Imhotep, Med Jai.”  She gave a motion to her maidens, and the group of women floated away, leaving only the scent of their perfume lingering in the air of the hall.

 

“You love her,” Imhotep said slowly, looking Menmet in the eyes.

 

“What?” he asked, truly surprised.

 

“I can see it in the way you look at her,” the Priest responded.  He smiled to himself, some secret amusement, some hidden, ultimate irony.

Menmet covered his face in his hands.  “Oh,” he exclaimed, almost to himself.  “We have tried so hard to hide it!  But it appears that we are pure failures at deception.”

 

Imhotep laughed.  Menmet looked up in surprise, having never heard the Priest truly laugh before.

 

“We do not all excel at deception, Med Jai, nor at fulfilling our duty.”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.

 

“Just remember that we cannot always do what we wish, we cannot always act as our rational selves counsel.”

 

Menmet stopped, staring at him.  He understood now.  “So that’s what she was talking about,” he murmured.  “Anck-su-namun was talking about you.”

 

“What?” Imhotep asked, the fear and surprise in his voice betraying his outward calm.  “What do you mean?”

 

“You two are in love,” Menmet said quietly, all of the pieces fitting together.

 

“How do you know?” Imhotep asked desperately.

 

Menmet’s smile was laced with a combination of sadness and understanding.  “I could see it on your face the moment I mentioned her name.”

 

Imhotep’s face clouded over.  “Does anyone else know–?”

 

Menmet shook his head.  “Not that I know of.  But, Imhotep, your love is more dangerous than mine.”

 

The most powerful man in Egypt, second only to the Pharaoh himself, turned away, gripping one hand fiercely in the other.  “I know.  But my love forces me to betray rational action.  I cannot keep myself away, even when I know what will happen if we are discovered.”

 

Menmet cast his eyes down.  “I know,” he whispered, almost to himself.

 

“So we both love women we cannot have, for they belong to our Pharaoh, the man we must honor and protect above all others?”  Imhotep’s voice dripped with irony.

 

And for a moment, the two men stood on the same side of a deep abyss, almost understanding each other like brothers.  But the moment passed, and Menmet straightened. 

 

“It appears that way, Priest.  But we must always honor and protect our Pharaoh.  We have sworn–our duty and our honor.”

Imhotep stared at Menmet, his face, full of love and humanity, turning cold and unforgiving.  “So you choose your duty over love?”

 

Menmet paused, thinking about Nefertiri, who he loved with his entire being.  “I believe that the Gods esteem honor over love.  If we do our duty in life, we will be rewarded with our loved ones someday.”

 

“When, Med Jai?” Imhotep gave a harsh laugh.

 

Menmet shook his head.  “Maybe in a thousand lifetimes, Priest.  But if one day I can walk by her side once again–in peace and love and honor–then all my sacrifices will have been worth it.  That is the meaning of duty, and the meaning of rebirth.”

 

Imhotep’s response burned itself into Menmet’s consciousness, into his innermost fears.  “The Gods will always honor a love borne of the heavens rather than a misplaced sense of duty, duty to a man who is no more divine that you or I.  Remember my words, Med Jai.”  Imhotep offered him a bitter smile. 

 

“You will wait your thousand lifetimes.  But what if this was your only chance?  What if the only lifetime you live with Nefertiri is this one?” he shook his head, gazing derisively at Menmet.  “You will have sacrificed the greatest gift the gods can bestow.  And, believe me, they will not reward you for squandering their gift.”  Imhotep stepped back, quietly, so his face was half hidden in shadow.

 

And the choices were made.  There would be no more arguments, no more philosophical debates.  The two men, who had come so close, now stood apart, each on one side of the widening chasm.   After this moment, the ridge between them would never be mended.  They would always be on opposite sides of the abyss.

 

One side would know nothing but agony, loss, and despair, broken up by mere moments of happiness.  But even those moments would not be pure, but would be laced with darkness, with the shadows of evil.  The other side would, for many lifetimes, know happiness, but an empty happiness, lifetimes lived without the true love of his soul.  But finally, millennia later, the gods would reward him, and he would walk in the sunlight with her–Evy, Nefertiri–doubtless she had other names as well.  But finally, they would find each other again...

 

The fates of the two men, seemingly traveling on the same path, suddenly diverged.  Indeed, they would meet again...

 

But for lifetime after lifetime, they would be nothing but enemies.

 

 

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Note: The words that I say come directly from the black book actually came from Normandi Ellis’ book “Awakening Osiris: The Egyptian Book of the Dead.”  It is a beautiful compilation of various hymns and writings from the walls of Ancient Egyptian tombs.

 

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