The Age of Ra (20 page)

''We hoped that they would learn to work together,'' says Shu, ''instead of which their arguments only grew more vehement.''

''It wasn't our intention that the world should suffer the consequences, either,'' says Tefnut.

''But events on earth mirror events in the heavens,'' says Nut. ''That's how it's always been.''

''As above, so below,'' says Geb.

''It's a misfortune of our own making,'' admits Shu.

''We feel responsible,'' adds Tefnut. ''But not guilty.''

''And we cannot become involved,'' says Nut. ''We've done what we have done. Our struggles are over. Our lives are now rest and repose, and we wish them to stay that way.''

''So take your boon and stick it where you don't shine!'' chortles Geb.

His mother reaches across and clouts him.

''Owww!''

Shu glares at his son, eyes as icy as an arctic breeze. ''Apologise to the Light Over All That Is,'' he says. ''At once.''

''Sorry,'' Geb mumbles to Ra.

Ra feels the heat of indignation building inside him. Geb's rudeness is bad enough, but it is the First Family's general apathy that really grates.

''I suppose it was too much to hope for,'' he says, ''that you would show a scintilla of interest in the affairs of your fractious progeny. I realise now that it is much better to laze about here in perfumed splendour, caring little about what goes on around you, than feel in any way troubled by the mess you have created. The mortal realm lies in disarray, humans in their millions suffer, war and wanton destruction rule the day. But'' - he sighs theatrically - ''as long as it doesn't affect you, that's fine.''

''We care about the mortals,'' Shu retorts. ''Of course we do. Their worship sustains us, just as it sustains you.''

''It may not be formal worship,'' Tefnut adds, ''but we value it nonetheless.''

''As long as there is someone thankful for a cooling wind or a breath of fresh air...'' says Shu.

''... or a fall of rain that fills a reservoir or brings life to crops...'' says Tefnut.

''... or the fertility of the soil that the crops grow in...'' says Geb.

''... or the sight of a clear blue sky or the stars...'' says Nut.

''... then we four will have strength in our hearts and live,'' concludes Shu. ''In the same way that you, Ra, live because mortals cherish your brightness and warmth. Their joy in you is a prayer. They turn their faces up to you and bask, and your
ba
is replenished by their appreciation.''

''So do not presume,'' says Tefnut, ''to tell us how much or how little mortals matter to us. It insults us and demeans you.''

The First Family have risen from their shared bed. They are affronted, but also galvanized. Ra sees that he might use this to his advantage. If he can annoy them further, perhaps they just might stir themselves to comply with his wishes, to spite him if nothing else.

''You know, looking at you now, it's hard to imagine that you managed to vanquish all those other pantheons,'' he says. ''How can four such listless and self-obsessed individuals ever have managed such a feat? It's a wonder you can even get out of bed in the morning. Oh wait, you seldom do, do you? You just loll around here, writhing in one another's embraces.''

''What hypocrisy, coming from the former King of the Earth who retired to his Solar Barque when he'd had enough of ruling the mortal plane!'' This snarled riposte from Shu comes like the blast of a hurricane.

''How dare you, Ra!'' Tefnut chimes in, monsoon-fierce. ''To denigrate our achievement like that! We gave every ounce of ourselves in that conflict. It was long, hard-fought, hard-won.''

''We strained, we heaved,'' says Geb.

''We shone!'' declares Nut.

And now they are all speaking at once, their voices overlapping, their words colliding, unified by rage. It is a litany of their victories, a roll call of the defeated:

''All those gods of war... the many-armed destroyers... the ones with dragon bodies... the warrior deities... the laughing gods who just wouldn't stand still... the solo gods perched in their lofty cloudtop citadels, defended by archangels, djinns, serpents, sword-bearing armies... the thunder gods... the luck gods who kept on escaping us, against all the odds... the fire gods... the archer gods... the demons... the ineffable gods who were near impossible to find... the mischief gods who tried to trick their way out of trouble... the mad-eyed protective mother goddesses... you think it was easy?... Furies... Valkyries... frost giants... Oni... fairies... demigods too... it was gruelling... punishing... relentless... centuries... all our energies... we deserve our relaxation... we've earned it!''

As one, shouting, the four reach a climax. Silence follows, as in the wake of a storm that has battered the land and torn the sky to shreds.

Ra finds himself reeling in the aftermath. He knows he has had a glimpse, the merest glimpse, of the full power that is these four's to command, and it is awesome indeed. They are all of Creation. They are Everything. Those other gods, even the mightiest among them, never stood a chance against the Family's theocidal onslaught.

As the echoes of their tirade fade away, Ra says softly, ''Well, you can certainly muster up some vigour when you want to. Would that you could apply that same vigour to the matter at hand...''

But the First Family draw together in a sullen huddle, and he senses he has miscalculated. He has peeved rather than piqued them.

''No,'' says Shu, adamant. ''It's out of the question.''

''You have asked too much,'' says Tefnut. ''Presumed too much.''

''You should leave,'' suggests Nut, her dress sparkling so dazzlingly it makes Ra's eyes ache.

''Yeah,'' says Geb. ''Sod off.''

This time, no one chastises him. Geb has spoken for all four of them.

''I apologise,'' says Ra, bending low from the waist. ''This has been a regrettable episode. Let us forget it ever happened. Next time we meet, it shall be on cordial terms, as in the light of a new dawn after a troubled night.''

Courteous, ever the diplomat, Ra knows how to mollify when he has to. The First Family's umbrage is lessened somewhat. Their backs grow a little less stiff, their eyes a little less narrow.

''Yes, well,'' says Shu. ''Bygones.''

''Bygones,'' repeats Ra.

The Family retreat to their bed, merging back into one atop that great silk-swathed mound. Soon all four of them are fast asleep, breathing deeply, their chests rising and falling in unison. Ra, meanwhile, is back aboard the Solar Barque, where Thoth greets him.

''How went it?'' he enquires.

''Not well,'' replies Ra. ''I made little progress. None, to be honest - unless you count invoking the First Family's wrath.''

''Not a sensible thing to do.''

''Tell me about it. Old friend, I'm stymied. What should be my next move?''

''Continue as you are, for now,'' counsels Thoth. ''That is all I can suggest. Keep on with your quest to bring peace. Only good can come of that.''

Ra rubs his brow. ''I am a god, Thoth. How come I cannot simply snap my fingers and have anything that I desire?''

''Even gods have their limitations,'' his vizier replies with a sad smile. ''We are as the mortals imagined us. They shaped us in their own image, imbued us with their own traits. They saw us as imperfect, fallible, prone to foibles, as they are. They raised us up on pedestals and at the same time gave us feet of clay. We have had no choice but to go along with that. We are their creations as much as they are ours. It is one of the immutable laws of the universe. And truth to tell'' - Thoth's smile broadens and brightens - ''would you have it any other way? Would you wish for everything to come easily to you? Would that not make life unbearably dull?''

''At this moment, O Wise One,'' says a rueful Ra, ''at this precise moment I would give anything for a dull life!''

15. Sortie

T
hey entered Libya around midnight, after a long trek across Freegypt's Western Desert. There were three vehicles in all - a ZT and a pair of flatbed trucks with guns mounted on the back. The full personnel complement was eight, including David and Zafirah. They made the crossing from one country to the other off-road, in a remote, uninhabited area, to avoid checkpoints and lessen the chances of encountering a border patrol.

As big moments went it was low-key, even anticlimactic.

''We've done it,'' David said to Zafirah, glancing up from the map. ''We're officially on Neph soil. This is it. No turning back now.''

''We can always turn back, any time,'' Zafirah replied, peering ahead at the landscape picked out by the headlamp beams. ''If we choose to.''

''Do you want to?''

''No.''

Thus was an act of war begun.

The eastern fringes of Libya played host to an assortment of Nephthysian sub-sects, which were tolerated if not sanctioned by the authorities in Tripoli. Littered across the wastes and wildernesses of the region were shrines, temples, even monasteries, each dedicated to a lesser member of the Pantheon. They had been established during the Divine Diaspora, when Pantheonic worship spilled out from what was then just plain Egypt like fruit from a cornucopia. While the renowned foreign archaeologists went racing back to their homelands with their arms full of tomb treasure and their hearts full of gnostic revelation, Egyptians themselves began spreading the good news to their immediate neighbours and to more distant nations as well. Most of the attention was on the major deities and the philosophies they represented, but the Egyptians didn't want the minor ones to be neglected. The One True Pantheon was rich and diverse. It would be a shame if, in the worldwide rush to embrace Isis, Osiris, Set, and their ilk, their less celebrated relatives ended up trampled underfoot and forgotten. In a frenzy of proselytising zeal, Egypt gave away every last one of its gods, draining its religious reservoir, leaving nothing behind for itself. In hindsight it was clear that this was what the gods themselves had willed, and so were laid the foundations of the world's one and only lay state.

Some of the sub-sects took root; some did not. None flourished to any meaningful degree, and the few that survived did so by virtue of gaining a purchase in territory that was sympathetic, or at least not hostile. This was the case in, for example, South America, where the children of Horus would never have succeeded in obtaining joint custodianship had that part of the continent not been so strongly under the sway of its neighbour to the north, their father's realm.

The same was true in Africa, where toeholds were available only to lesser gods who had some connection, however tenuous, to Nephthys or her husband.

The Lightbringer's orders to David, Zafirah, and their team were simple. Go into Libya. Find sites sacred to lesser gods. Blow them up.