Amun’s Message, Pt. 1

Some of this is historically accurate. Other things have been changed for plot purposes. The gods and magic were real.

Mekhayt listened to the young man sitting before her, his flowery perfume mingling with the heavy smoke of temple incense. She toyed with one of her many gray braids, the black clay bead tied at the bottom thumping back and forth from palm to the back of her hand.

“And then I drank a goblet of wine, in two gulps. That is how it went, in its entirety. What do you think, Oracle?” Finished with his tale, the youth leaned into his cushion, confidence in his dark eyes.

Mekhayt hmmm-ed, as if deeply contemplating. It was favorable. The boy already knew.

She stared at his kohled eyes, pierced ears, fine gold jewelry, and pristine white kilt. Then she opened her Other-sight to examine his Ka spirit. His aura of life, a deep copper color, as a man’s should be, glowed brightly. The gods favored this young man.

She leaned forward and breathed in the scent of his youth, the cowries on her necklace rattling. Mekhayt quieted the many shells, the only items of value she needed. They were her first warning of danger, and kept unfriendly magic at bay. And they revealed her secondary nature — sorceress.

“Why are you here?” She regarded him with earthly vision again. “Why seek my help in something as simple as a dream interpretation? There are one-hundred other priestesses in this temple, yet you have paid a fortune for me in particular.”

Surprise at her bluntness showed on his face. Few middle-aged females dared to question him, Mekhayt guessed.

He swallowed. “I need a Luck Changer.”

“Your name is Nakht, my Lord?”

“Of Pi-Ramesses. I’m the mayor’s son.”

“Pi-Ramesses, Capital of the Great One, our divine ruler, Pharaoh. I’ve lived my entire life here, but never explored it.” She paused — he didn’t need to know such things. “Why do you need this spell, Nakht?”

He stared straight into her eyes, turning his palms up in supplication. “I want to marry, Sorceress. To the most beautiful of Pharaoh’s daughters.”

She required no further explanation. “Ah. You’re insane, young man.”

“No! I’m not. I swear to you, I’ve more than a chance. Doesn’t my dream tell you so?” He held a hand to his heart, dark eyes wide.

Mekhayt snorted. “Your dream suggests nothing other than things will go well for you. Whether or not it’s about this particular goal of yours, who knows?”

Her words didn’t deflate him. “Princess Nedjemmut and I love each other. We wish for this to happen!”

“The princess wishes for this?”

Nakht nodded, and Mekhayt said, “If the subject of your affection truly loves you, why doesn’t she ask her illustrious father?”

“Pharaoh won’t let any of his daughters marry outside the family. If Nedjemmut’s sisters can’t marry who they wish, then why would he allow her?” Nakht touched his heart. “All her brothers are married. She will never know love if you do not help us, priestess.”

Mekhayt slapped the floor, her lips pressed tight. What did she care if a spoiled princess never knew love?

Marriage, love, power. Of these, she knew the last, and that was nothing compared to the influence this boy would someday possess. Lucky man.

Mekhayt wasn’t the jealous sort, but at this moment, she did feel regret. She’d not left the temple since her power manifested at twelve, over thirty years ago.

With a resigned sigh, she said, “Well, nothing can be called impossible, nobleman. What will happen to allow you to ask for the princess’s hand?”

“You’re quite astute, Oracle.” Nakht straightened up.

Mekhayt said nothing. Obviously a chance approached.

Unperturbed, Nakht said, “Pharaoh Ramses loves senet, he often invites someone to his private chambers to play a game with him. My father has known this privilege many times. About a week ago, Pharaoh decided to invite me, the greatest honor of my life.”

“I assume Nedjemmut had nothing to do with this?” Mekhayt fingered her necklace.

“Someone apparently told him that I’m an accomplished player.” Nakht smiled. “I beat him. He challenged me again, tonight, so he may correct this setback.” Nakht took a deep breath. “If you can beat Pharaoh more than once, he will grant any favor.”

She nodded in understanding. “And you need your luck changed, so that the throwing sticks land your way.”

“Yes, please. I’ll do anything you ask, if you’ll help me in this.”

Mekhayt smiled her mysterious-priestess smile, hiding what she truly thought. She should tell him no.

She focused beyond Nakht, to the painted temple walls behind him. Isis, tall and proud, crowned with the throne, towered above them both, an ankh of life raised before her. The goddess turned to Mekhayt, her head shaking in disapproval.

Mekhayt breathed in sharply as a pain gripped her chest and shoulder. An image formed in her mind — a coffin, her shriveled mummy inside. Then a dark door closed, and her life as another faceless Oracle of Isis disappeared into the temple annals.

Impulse gripped. Isis’s image froze once more.

“This is not an easy task you ask of me,” she shook her left hand against the pain. “To change someone’s luck in a situation like this is impossible.”

Nakht’s smile dropped as if two stones were tied to the sides of his mouth.

“Or at least,” she said, “it’s impossible for me to cast the spell, here in this place, and have it assist you in the palace. I must observe the game to manipulate the way the sticks fall.”

She paused to let him ponder this. “My magic will be in a living god’s presence, who is further protected by Horus, Amun, Osiris, Nepthys, and Isis herself. They may use their divinity to prevent anyone from affecting our King.”

“You’re telling me you need to be at the game? In the palace?”

She smiled mysteriously.

Emotions crossed Nakht’s face fast, and settled on dismay. “Only nobles are allowed into Pharaoh’s private chambers, and that’s the greatest privilege. By Amun, even his chamber servants are ennobled! To bring a person of lesser-blood could spell the end of all of us. Even Nedjemmut!”

He twisted a gold ring he wore. Nakht went still and said, “I truly am insane.”

“Some things are worth the risk, yes?”

“Yes, they are.” His eyes met hers. “I must speak with the princess before I dare slip you into the palace. Come with me to my home, and then wait there until I return. She will help. I swear to you, Nedjemmut wants this more than I do.”

Mekhayt curled a hand over her aching heart. She would do this. Go outside. Go to the palace. See, perhaps even touch, the Living-God, their Pharaoh.
Nakht helped her up, her hips popping. She couldn’t endure kneeling for so long anymore.

Once on her feet, she followed Nakht out, moving through the brightly painted walls of the temple to his waiting litter. The eyes of the gods and goddesses watched her, the feathered, protective arms of Isis in flight quivering in admonition as she walked under a door mantle.

To break ma’at, the order of things as the gods and Pharaoh made them, was a sin greater than any other. She’d sworn an oath, to the then-head priestess, to live above the temptations of the outside world. But that head priestess was dead many years now. No fellow priestess would dare stop her leaving, and none would prevent her from returning.

Mekhayt ignored Isis’s looks, and stepped into Ra’s hot noon light.

• Author’s notes:

I’ve chosen to use Greek name spellings for places and gods in many cases, in order to use the immediate, romantic idea of Ancient Egypt. The real Egyptian name for Isis, for example, is Iset. Horus would be Hor. Pi-Ramesses was a real city. The Egyptians called their country ‘Kemet.’ (Egyptologists aren’t really sure how Ancient Egyptian’s pronounced their language however — hieroglyphs don’t include vowels, so it’s educated guess work.)

Princess Nedjemmut was a real princess and daughter of Ramses II. She is mentioned on earlier monuments of Ramses, but disappears in later ones. No one knows what happened to her, but the most common belief is that she died early. I like to believe something else. Mekhayt and Nakht are not real, but characters I invented.

Love it? Yay! Hate it? Email me at TheOraclesSpells@gmail.com, with the subject heading ‘Curse me!’ and I’ll send you a personalized Egyptian curse! (Details, like if your male or female, will help.)