The Age of Ra (37 page)

Osiris was the god of resurrection. Just as he had been restored to life after Set tore him to pieces, so he oversaw the transmigration of each person's
ka
to its new, eternal existence in the Field of Reeds, helping them surmount death as he had. He fulfilled a similar function in nature. In spring, Osirisiac farmers prayed to him to make their crops shoot up and be plentiful. From the dead winter earth Osiris generated life.

With his djed-pillar he had been illustrating... something.

My own life? David wondered.

When the doctor returned for the soup bowl, David asked her how he had been during the night.

''You lie very still all night,'' she replied in halting English. ''Not good. We worry. But you are good now, I think. You are come through. Worst is over.''

David had to admit that he didn't feel too bad. Felt better, in fact, than he had any right to expect. He ached all over, but the pains were external, superficial. At the core of him, where it counted, he felt hale and whole.

Osiris's doing? Or just the body's own healing processes?

He had the strength to sit up. Soon he had the strength to stand and walk about a bit.

Was
he
the djed-pillar Osiris had raised?

Perhaps he was placing too great an emphasis on his place in the grand scheme of things. Did Osiris care that much about him? Was the god taking a personal interest in him? If so, why? God dreams were meant to clarify your thinking. So how come his thoughts felt cloudier and more muddled than ever?

He exited the field hospital to get some air and shake off the stench of human suffering. Not far from the tent, a score of bodies lay on the ground, covered with blankets and awaiting burial - those who'd been wounded so severely, the doctors hadn't been able to save them. David moved away, shunning the bodies not so much through squeamishness but because they seemed just so mundane. So banal. The blankets shrouded them incompletely. Here a bare foot showed, there a hand. The meat that was left behind after the
ka
had flown.

His eye fell on a solitary terebinth tree standing proud at the edge of a field, straight-trunked, its leaves in full early-summer ripeness and roundly, succulently green. He went and sat in its shade. The tree's sharp, resinous aroma surrounded him. Nearby, a cicada began to chirrup.

He remained there for a while, with his forearms on his knees and his chin on his hands, inhaling the turpentiney smell of the terebinth and feeling its rough bark against his back and listening to the cicada's clicking, buzzing proclamation of territory and desire. He stared into space, and so deep was the reverie he sank into that a sudden uproar from the far side of Mount Megiddo, the sound of combat being resumed after the night's lull, barely impinged. His ear heard, but his mind was elsewhere.

Out on the plain, the armies clashed again. The Nephthysian infantry had regrouped overnight, drawing reserves up from base to bolster its main force. The Lightbringer's troops had distributed themselves along the second line of positions, in accordance with their leader's instructions. Rather than clustered in knots, the Freegyptians were now strung out thinly so as to afford fewer concentrated targets and a more even spread of resistance. Universally it was accepted that, in this formation, they could not hold out for long.

And they didn't. Within an hour the Nephthysians had broken through in several places. The order came down from the Lightbringer: retreat. Pull back to the third line at the foot of the mountain.

The Nephthysians powered onward, blasting at the Freegyptians, who mounted a rearguard action as they went, strewing landmines and tripwire-triggered grenades in their wake. These slowed the Nephthysians but didn't deter them. On they came, advancing with the stalwart self-assurance of soldiers who knew that victory was, if not at hand, then at least within reach.

The Freegyptians, bunching around the base of Mount Megiddo's southern flank, fought valiantly. The Nephthysians were brought to a standstill, though not repulsed. They hurled themselves repeatedly at the infidels but couldn't seem to make a dent in their defences. The gun emplacements atop the mountain poured bullets down on them. Still they pressed hard, not allowing the enemy one moment's peace. Their generals urged them on from the rear, insisting that the Freegyptians would be worn down soon. They couldn't keep taking this much punishment indefinitely. They must buckle under.

Thousands of Nephthysians made the journey to Iaru that day. Hundreds of Freegyptians, too, found themselves in the afterlife. Anticipating oblivion, it came as a shock to them to discover that the godless person possessed a
ka
and it lived on. Then, soon enough, they set to work harvesting reeds alongside the billions of other souls already there, and swiftly the rhythm of toil became all they knew. The capacity to feel surprise, or much of anything else, was lost to them, falling away like some surplus, vestigial organ. They were as happy as ants, wishing nothing for themselves but to be among others of their kind and contribute to the communal workload.

Meanwhile, in the world they had recently departed, battle raged on, and twenty miles to the north of Megiddo one of the Lightbringer's scouts caught a first glimpse of the approaching Setic reinforcements.

The scout could hardly believe his eyes. At first he thought that what his binoculars were showing him must be the entire Setic task force, but he soon perceived that it was simply the vanguard. It alone stretched from horizon to horizon, and there was more behind.

This wasn't a mere handful of battalions. This was
everything
.

31. Influence

F
or the first time in memory, Mandet, the Night Barque, has carried an onboard complement of more than two. Ra and lion-headed Aker, its usual crewman and passenger, have been joined by the entire Pantheon for the nocturnal journey through the realm of the dead. Their main aspects ride the boat, confined there in accordance with Ra's will, and none of the gods has enjoyed the voyage, especially not Anubis. The others grumble about the darkness and the bitter cold, their voices echoing sibilantly off the stone walls of the caverns through which they are passing, and Anubis grumbles about their grumbling. This is part of his kingdom, after all. Who are they to criticise it so? He doesn't go to their realms and complain about the brightness and warmth, does he?

Arrival at the eastern gate of heaven and transfer to Mesektet, the Solar Barque, does little to lift anyone's mood. Suspicion and resentment continue to bristle among the gods. The traitor has not come forth. No one has made it known that he or she is the Lightbringer's divine ally. Ra expects the culprit to own up. It would be the proper thing to do. He cannot force a confession out of anyone, but he believes guilt must surely be preying on the conscience of the individual in question and will prick the truth out of him or her in due course. Everyone just needs to be patient.

Apophis rears out of the river, and Set duly leaps to grapple with him. As he does so, one of Horus's children, Hapi, can be heard to remark, ''There's your man, if you ask me. Great-Uncle Set. Who else could it be? A known deceiver. A prince of lies. With a track record like his - of course it's him.''

When Set returns to the boat, bloodied from battle, he heads straight over to Hapi. Grabbing the androgynous young godling by the throat, he hoists him off the deck. Hapi's long hair flaps around and his pendulous breasts quiver as Set holds him aloft.

''I have sharp ears, girly-man,'' he says. ''If you have an accusation to make, make it to my face, not behind my back.''

Hapi gargles, clutching his great-uncle's forearm, trying to claw his way out of Set's grasp.

''Reckon I'm the one, do you?'' Set goes on. ''Well, think about it. The Lightbringer's people hurt Wepwawet. My grandson. Right now they're fighting Nephthys. My wife. Why, then, would I be collaborating with him? Eh? Eh?'' He shakes Hapi about like a dog with a rabbit. ''Why? What do I gain? It makes no sense.''

In a paroxysm of fear, Hapi's bladder lets go. Urine sluices down the insides of his legs.

Set sneers. ''The God of Inundation. Bringer of the Flood. Pissing himself. How apt.''

Horus appears at Set's side and appeals to him to put Hapi down.

''I thought you couldn't abide your children,'' says Set.

''Can't control them,'' says Horus. ''Not quite the same thing. Besides, I am still their father. Hapi spoke foolishly. He meant nothing by it and regrets it now. Don't you, Hapi?''

Hapi nods as best he can with Set's hand locked around his neck.

''So, my dear Uncle, begging you kindly, would you let him go?''

Set glares at Hapi, then with an inclination of the head to Horus, a mark of his newfound esteem for his nephew, does as asked. Hapi tumbles to the deck and lies there in a heap, wheezing for breath. Set turns smartly on his heel and makes for the bows, where he keeps a basin of water so that he can wash off Apophis's blood.

Ra scowls. A disagreeable episode, and there will be more of its kind if matters continues as they are. Tempers are fraying. But he cannot back down. His path is set. He must stand firm. The guilty god
will
be identified. It is only a matter of time.

Meanwhile, Osiris has drawn Isis aside for a quiet word.

''I don't know about you, Isis,'' he says, ''but I'm not prepared to sit around on this boat for who knows how long, waiting for something that might not ever happen. I won't have it. Ra cannot treat us in this way. Keeping us here like a teacher holding the class back after school because someone placed a tack on his chair...''

''It's a little more serious than that, dear.''

''Even so, I find it insulting. Demeaning.''

''It's Ra's will,'' Isis counters. ''He is the All-Father. We must do as he asks - however misguided what he asks may seem.''

''If we were to just up and leave, though, how could he stop us?''

''He couldn't. But think about it. Anyone who left would immediately have suspicion fall on them. It would be seen as being tantamount to an admission of guilt.''

''A fair point,'' says Osiris. ''Then let me confess something to you.''

Isis's jaw drops. ''Osiris! It isn't you, is it? You're the one who's been helping the Lightbringer? It can't be. Why?''

''No. No! It isn't me. And keep your voice down, will you?'' Osiris glances around. Luckily no one appears to have overheard his sister-wife's outburst. ''Just listen for a moment. I did leave the boat last night. Only briefly. I sent out a tiny aspect of myself to the mortal realm. It was such a minuscule amount of my essence, nobody could have noticed.''

''I certainly didn't, and if I didn't, I doubt anyone else did. Where did you go?''

''To where the Lightbringer is battling with Nephthys's worshippers, at Megiddo.''

''Why?''

''One of ours is down there. Can you not feel him? An Englishman. He's embedded among the Freegyptians.''

Isis turns her gaze inward, searching. ''Yes. I feel him. There he is. His name is David Westwynter. I see... I see he has been such a troubled man. A conflict in him, between what he feels he ought to be and what he is. Given so much by birthright yet always wanting something else, something both more and less. Assured and accomplished on the outside, but like an unhappy boy within. A slave to his own sense of duty. What is he doing there, fighting alongside the Lightbringer?''

''That I can't work out. They seem to be related somehow, but everything connected with the Lightbringer is so imprecise. As Ra says, there is an opacity about him, and it extends to those around him. But when visiting the Westwynter man in his sleep, I detected within him a simmering dislike of the Lightbringer. There is bad blood between them, and it is something I thought I could exploit. And did.''

''Osiris, what have you done?''

''Not much,'' says Osiris. ''Merely planted the germ of an idea in his mind. He was once quite devout. Then he drifted from our influence. I have tried to anchor him once more, remind him of certain values.''

''How will that help us?''

''It may not help at all. Mortals have free will. They do not always do as we desire. But if everything works out as I hope, we shall soon be off this barge and able to return to our palaces.''

''The Westwynter man...''

''... has become a potential catalyst for change. If human nature takes its course, and I think it will, the Lightbringer will soon be out of the picture.''

''And with him gone, the stalemate that reigns here will be resolved,'' says Isis, understanding.