There is only darkness and thought. I would tell of a memory and...
Let it begin with Qenna. Dear friend Qenna. Qenna sitting there spending the good part of a yellow-hot day trying to convince me he -- nothing more than a warrior, mind you -- had access to the temple of the goddess. I was the dreamer, the one who knew life through the net of lamp oils and stone tablets. Qenna was alive with day -- yet he challenged me now to accept an untruth from him, and such a challenge from one as sure-footed in the light of truth as Qenna was not to be left unmet. I found myself following my sure-footed guide through the swirling streets of dust under a mocking veil of night.
Soon we faced massive gates of wood and stone heavily guarded with equally massive sentinel guards, each man poised with spear at the ready. I stepped back from Qenna, unwilling to watch him die while he simply hailed the tallest of the stone-faced guards -- a man called Kem -- and the colossal figure promptly lowered its spear and stepped aside. Then Qenna was guiding me, or should I say dragging me, through gates that opened like a raw wound onto a serene forecourt of glistening persea trees and cool pools of water.
Such contrast to behold, such sublime blend of savage power and gentle beauty so exemplified in the towering presence of two enormous basalt lion statues holding dominion over a delicate landscape. Qenna halted before the regal guardians, touching his hand to his heart and lowering his head. I made the same salutation and stood waiting until Qenna touched my arm and I followed him to the heavily mounted brass temple doors. There Qenna made four sharp raps and a voice was heard from within.
"Auk ren," it questioned. Qenna responded with his name and a deep grating sound began. The doors of the temple were opening.
I was attempting to apologize to Qenna for having doubted him when I was hit with a light so dazzling I had to cover my eyes. The open doors of the temple showed torches reflecting off walls that heightened the intensity of light to a near-painful level. I had never expected, nor do I ever expect again, to see walls like those. I still wonder at the cost, the time, the actual labor involved in building walls of gold imbedded with precious woods and stones and containing in the center of such glowing splendor a breath-taking utterly magnificent shrine: a pedestal of parti-colored syinite adorned with gems supporting a golden image of the goddess Nepthys. Jeweled goddess eyes met mine and I dropped to my knees with arms extended, my face to the cold slab floor.
Qenna kicked me with his foot. "Ani! You are a guest here. Get up. Kher-Heb's coming in!"
"Let him be, Qenna."
It was a magnificent voice that said those words. I turned my head to see white sandals and the gold-embroidered hem of white linen. Rising to my knees I saw a heavy leather girdle studded with turquoise and ruby stones and beyond this, the collar of a high priest: row upon row of red jasper knotted together with thread of gold. The speaker wore copper bracelets, gold ear loops, heavy eye makeup, and a tall white cone upon his head. I sat back on my heels and just looked at him. Pharaoh himself would have paled next to the presence of this priest. The glittering image spoke again.
"My lady relishes such honest adoration," it said. "You are not of the same breed as the warrior." It studied me a moment then added, "Would you be a scribe?"
I nodded, dumbly."Then welcome, scribe. I am Kher-Heb, loyal servant to the goddess Nepthys. Follow me..."
The white sandals turned and Qenna was once again yanking at me, this time to follow the priest down a corridor almost hidden behind the pedestal of the goddess -- a corridor of fewer torches and less gold that widened into an elegant antechamber. Here deep green walls were adorned with rare wood mosaics while large woven pillows surrounded a low table of polished gold.
Qenna whisked past me. "Look at this," he roared. "Then thank me! Here we have vessels of milk, beer, wine, and oil. Here there are bowls of cakes made with the finest wheat-flour and honey. Here are breads, figs, grapes, olives, and over here wild fowl, haunches of beef and slices of fish!"
I looked at the priest. He extended a jeweled hand in the direction of the table and refusal now would mean insult to the house of Nepthys. Payment for such an atrocity would likely result in the loss of some beloved part of my anatomy so I seated myself at the table. Qenna, already seated, grinned triumphantly when I joined him. He was brandishing a leg of fowl like a victory banner.
I must take this moment to say how much I relish the memory of those next few hours. The talk flowed as freely as the wine and while the priest skillfully avoided many of my questions he openly answered as many more. And Qenna? Qenna was Qenna, constantly interjecting into our lofty exchange with his raw tales of erotic pleasure.
Kher-Heb was surprisingly game to Qenna's course of discussion. He soon waxed eloquent with graphic tales of temple lust. After one deliciously explicit tale, Qenna took a long slow drink from his goblet and said, "Call Seshe to me, Kher-Heb."
The demand did not please the priest. "Go to her yourself, Qenna," he said. "She is a Nepthys priestess, not a warrior's concubine. She was not ordered to accommodate you on your last visit. She did so by choice."
Qenna made a sharp laugh. "What choice, my friend? She is a woman."
Kher-Heb slowly sat his goblet on the table. "She is a priestess, Qenna. For your life do not forget this."
The threat registered and Qenna lurched from the pillow with a grace that belied his physical mass. "What game is this, Kher-Heb? Is this sudden righteousness for the benefit of Ani?" He spat his words as if it pained him. "I am chief-warrior to Pharaoh, not a dung-sweeper. I grovel to no female -- woman or goddess!"
Let it be noted here that wine has often loosened my tongue and rarely to my benefit. On this night too, the tongue flapped freely. "I would," I grinned. "To bed a goddess, I would." I then returned to my serious study of an insect on a honey cake, paying little attention to Qenna's stare or Kher-Heb's quick smile. Then I noticed Qenna's hand as it slid to the hilt of his sword.
"He knows not what he says, Kher-Heb." Qenna's words sounded strange to me.
"Of course I do, Qenna," I laughed. "I want that goddess out there."
Dismayed, Qenna quickly glanced at the priest. "Let us leave now, Kher-Heb, before -- "
The smile did not leave Kher-Heb's face as he rose to face Qenna. "I think not, Ani will stay. Now Seshe awaits you. Bed or battle -- which shall it be?"
To me, still sitting on the floor between the two men, it was like being seated between lofty pillars of granite. Then one of the pillars dissolved into Qenna as he let go of his sword. "Agreed," he said in a voice unfamiliar to me. "Seshe's pleasures last longer than the kill."
I had never known Qenna to back away from a battle. Somehow instincts fumbled up through the wine and I rose from my seat sensing danger. Kher-Heb's arm shot out to stay me and Qenna's eyes warned me to remain. I dropped back to the seat as Qenna promptly left the room.
A sound. Did you also hear it? Let it be near and let me continue this tale while I can...
With Qenna gone Kher-Heb quickly sat down. He moved closer to me, so close I could smell his sweet breath as he spoke.
"Friend Ani, as you are a scribe would you also consider yourself a seeker of knowledge?"
It was startling how uncomfortable I felt with that perfumed man's body next to mine, yet the question was simple enough. "Yes," I answered.
"And Sekhem?"
I pulled away from him. Now the danger was real. Sekhem was forbidden to all but the gods. Knowledgeable commoners were put to death and denied burial for their transgression against the gods. Had I, in the course of wine-enriched conversation, shown myself to be too knowledgeable, too aggressive a seeker? The small dark eyes of the priest held forth for an answer and I had no choice but to answer him.
"Sekhem is the power of consummate knowledge," I said quietly. "It is rarely achieved in a lifetime."
He leaned closer, his fleshy fingers stroking my arm. "It is never attained in a single lifetime. Still, sekhem exists." His fingers were leisurely continuing their path down my arm but his body stiffened and his hand froze. "It is time for you to go," he announced. "Leave the same way you entered."
Just as Qenna had, only moments before, the priest abruptly left me.
"Kher-Heb!" I called after him. I was to the corridor only footsteps behind yet he was gone. Alone now in the silent room I quickly lost all benefit of the grape. With body tense and heart pounding I started running through the dark corridor, the echo of my footsteps my only companion.
I reached the main chamber. Flickering torchlight danced off the golden walls but I was still alone -- except for the shrine of the goddess Nepthys. I ran past that altar and was almost to the copper doors when the chamber lights went out as if simultaneously extinguished by some unseen force. I stood surrounded by blackness and my own burgeoning fear.
"You should take care what you ask for, mortal."
The voice pierced through me from behind. I spun around, struggling desperately to locate the source of such words. A form slowly emerged from the shadows. At the same time, chamber torches flared back to life.
Standing there, within my reach, was a woman with skin that glistened as if faintly oiled with some golden-hued ointment; wearing a form-fitting garment of the purest and sheerest fine linen and showing thick-plaited black hair that fell to her shoulders -- it was not a wig as was our custom. She wore fine bracelets of topaz, a brilliant collar of topaz and sapphire, and on her head a simple tiara consisting of a singular golden asp.
I struggle to define her face. I can speak of beauty, of perfect features, of high cheek-bones, delicate skin, full lips, skin as smooth as the surface of still water, but any word I choose to describe Nethys's eyes is...inadequate. They were yellow. Yellow like the sun, like the reflection of the walls. Luminous golden-yellow eyes that went through me as if I had no more substance than a waft of dying breath.
"My goddess," I uttered. My next words were foolish but from the heart. "Of all the emotions I should feel at this moment, I feel only desire."
Those extraordinary eyes raked over me. "You do not desire me, Ani. You confuse desire of flesh with desire of knowledge."
Even then I had acquired enough knowledge to know the difference in my desires. "Knowledge," I said carefully, "is to be savored, but so is the unknown. It is the unknown, my goddess, that provides both pleasure and knowledge -- "
"And agony, mortal."
"Agreed, Nepthys. There is always risk."
She stepped back from me. "And it is risk you have taken. You have asked for me within the walls of my own temple. To do so is to ask entrance to paut neteru, the company of the gods. Make your decision."
There was ridicule in her question, ridicule enough to make me raise my head and move closer to her. "I am no fool, Nepthys. To enter the company of the gods means immortality and the power to choose the next form for rebirth. It would also mean the chance to be with you."
She laughed a mocking laugh that seemed to dance with the light in the chamber. "You are more fool than you think, scribe. If you choose a form it must be near you and you must know its name. Without both you are forever trapped in your body of origin, your khat, and as for me...I am a goddess belonging to the people, not to you, not to another god, not even to myself. After this night I will not see you again."
But there was this night, by the gods, there was this night! I reached for her and golden eyes flamed but she did not pull away. "Nepthys," I pleaded. "I choose paut neteru. Yet I will not enter it lacking in certain knowledge. I lack this knowledge, Nepthys: the knowledge of you and of this passion that I feel. Teach me."
For all that lifetime I had thought myself lacking in strength, Qenna's strength. I had forgotten the power of words. My beautiful goddess slid from my arms and removed the shimmering tiara that adorned her head. Never taking her eyes from me, she unclasped her heavy collar and let it drop clattering to the floor. When the linen dress fell, she glided forward, placed her hand over my heart, and whispered, "Hail thou whose heart is still...come to me."
My heart was not still, not until our night ended. And as to my death, I could not have scripted one more satisfying. To die with the honey-hued body of a goddess taking my seed is by far my death of choice.
The funeral they gave me was nearly as memorable as Nepthys. As my body was found within the temple, Kher-Heb deified me to the people, calling me a man-god. He and his Sem-priests took great pains in preserving my body and it was Kher-Heb's own hands that wrapped me in fine linen. I could see Qenna at the funeral, see him saluting me, hear Kher-Heb's final words, then all changed to what it is now.
And in this now I have rested, my physical form rotting and crumbling as the dust that it is. Here I have experienced sekhem, the endless stream of consciousness from earthbound mortals and the formless thousands of us who still lay at rest. Often do I send my energy of thought into that stream, waiting until it reaches the shore of another mind...as it does at this moment. You whom I have reached, do you transcribe these thoughts of mine for the entertainment of others? You need not, for I have told this tale many times in the passage of time, yet there has never been nearness. There has been contact with another but never nearness and never name. Beasts, beasts have been near -- dogs, mice -- but they are not creatures of name and they are not my form of choice.
Wait! I hear the sound closer now and what approaches is not beast, not rat, not dog. You who transcribe so feverishly, stay with my thoughts but a moment longer and I will give you power to hear what I hear; to witness what is to be...and if there is name, my friend, then Ani is free. Listen...
"Hey John, they're gonna knight you for this. John? Richards, this is Fallon; you better get in here. We were about to open the sarcophagus when John collapsed. What? Hell if I know! Wait a minute...he's coming out of it. Pulse is still erratic. Pupils are dilated. Maybe -- oh hell, he's all right -- he's just not himself yet.
Fini
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