Osiris Blood, Part One: Watcher of Storms

Osiris Blood

Part One: Watcher of Storms

By R.C. Morris

Copyright 2015 R.C. Morris

Distributed by Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Prologue

Pretty Sheep

Night. Deep in the desert. Away from prying eyes, away from questions, away from anything but the inhabitants occupying this sand-covered expanse. Scorpions and jackals, and the occasional dust dervish. Doubtful that was why this place had been chosen—to appear a tomb lost among the dunes. But it was not a tomb, it was a dwelling, and forever struck the woman approaching it as an oddity.

Tall and lithe, moving with a practiced grace across the sand, she scarcely left any trace of her steps. Traveling alone and unfearful, just as she always had on this world. She was Isis, and needed no escort.

The single stone structure, small with two stone pillars at its front, marked her destination. Dust storms had left sand to cover the sides and back, adding to its concealment, but she had been here before and no amount of sand could cloak its entrance from her.

Arriving at the structure, she did not hesitate to place her palm on the stone slab that marked the way in. She incanted the proper words, her voicings reverberating through the stone. A gong sounded. A tone deep within the stone confines, metallic and unnatural. The slab slid free of its resting place, sideways into one of the adjacent walls. Still with no hesitation, the woman walked through, ignoring the door sliding back to its origin behind her.

Isis was not surprised to find the interior had remained unchanged since last she seen it over two millennia ago. The walls were stark, devoid of much color with the exception of the thousands of chiseled carvings laid into them—glyphs of men in battle, none of which concerned the woman’s attention. Weapon-stands littered the area, holding all manner of swords and spears, and of some weapons she did not recognize. A number of stone pillars were in place to stay the ceiling. Wide-diameter obsidian bowls on tall staves held lit oil. Red-orange and blue flames danced above the bowls, giving the room just enough light. The chamber present an eerie demeanor, as it was meant to be.

At the far end of the chamber sat her purpose—a figure on an unadorned, stone throne, resting on a raised dais. He was tall even while seated. Muscular and handsome with his long, black mane and tan skin. His brash arrogance displayed, as he was stripped to the waist in only only a black schenti and strapped leather sandals.

His appearance did nothing for her though, she knew what he was. This was Set, Watcher of Storms she had heard him called, and perhaps that was why he resided so deep in this domain—to watch the storms. She did not care either way.

Dear sister, Set began, throwing one leg over an arm of the throne. This is a curious surprise.

Fitting, Isis said, gesturing around the room and ignoring his greeting. This is always how I envision you. Tucked away in some remote prison. She smiled, mocking him.

Prison? Hardly, Set replied, slamming a heel against the side of the throne with his lounging leg.

From one side of the chamber, a door built into the floor slid away revealing a staircase leading down. Three young girls emerged from the staircase. Each wearing only a short black skirt that wrapped through the legs to appear too snug. They had nothing covering their breasts but kohl-dye painted over their nipples and various glyph markings over the rest of their bodies. The girls all wore their hair long and strait, dyed black to reflect a bluish tint in the firelight. They were quite beautiful, and quite young.

Isis raised an eyebrow upon seeing the girls, "Shameless as always. Are these even aware of where they are, or who they are?"

The young girls took up their places sitting beside and in front of Set’s throne.

What? Set exclaimed in mocking sarcasm. These are my most humble servants, willing to be here, and willing to serve. It is only proper that find use of their…various talents. Set’s eyes closed barely to slits as he viewed each of them lustfully.

Isis leaned against one of the pillars, We have business, you and I, brother. Send them away.

Oh? Set said, casually nudging one of the girls with his toe. What sort of business would you and I have that I would need to send them away? Maybe they could stay and contribute.

Set looked up at Isis, his desire and curiosity flashing in his eyes. Reaching over, he stroked the hair of one of the girls at his side, almost unaware he was doing so. Besides, they will not remember much anyway. It’s less painful that way.

You seek the pieces of Osiris, Isis said, ignoring his inferences. So do I. I have more than you, and I will not relent. So, I call for armistice.

A truce? Peace? Set said, his doubt showing. He tilted his head to look at her sideways. "And why would I want that, dear sister? War draws followers, followers make us stronger. Make me stronger."

You draw your followers out of fear of your wrath, not future recompense, She said sternly.

Yes, yes, yes. And your followers love you, Set goaded. I will talk peace with you, only when I have what I desire.

Set rose to his feet, pushing past the girl in front of him roughly, she did not even notice. Sauntering up to Isis, his steps slow and deliberate, he leaned against the same pillar—nonchalance, arrogance.

His eyes pursued her up and down, the lust still prominent. He tugged at her blue diaphanous dress with a tentative hand and his fingers brushed the side of her breast, trailing down her stomach. What I desire, he repeated, not bothering to hide his inviting smile.

She pushed his hand away, out to the side, That is one thing you desire you will not ever have again, she said with determination.

Set straitened and moved away from the pillar, Ah, arrogance at last, sister. You think I still desire only you. I want something even greater than us. Greater than that which we already have.

Yes, power, Isis said, looking down to adjust her dress.

Set laughed and snapped his fingers. The servant girls stood and marched down the staircase, out of the chamber. That’s power, he said. I desire…, Set returned to Isis’s side, leaning in close to her, "…the Continuum." He stepped away, giving her his back.

Isis tried to contain her disbelief but her breath caught. Obtaining access to the Continuum was forbidden. Had the words come from anyone else she would have dismissed them without thought. But hearing this from Set and his hungry ambitions, she knew he spoke exactly what he wanted.

Cursed fool! she said, her eyes going wide, her words in a rush. "You know the Law, such talk is blasphemous. We cannot touch the Continuum. The Balance cannot be tampered with, even you know better than this—"

Set was laughing, his back still to her, Ease, lover, he said, still chuckling. Why were we asked here if not to lead these people? We are far superior to them. They look to us as masters of this world. There is still a place by my side should you but ask, my dear.

Under your heel, you mean, Isis growled, her anger flaring, her hands doubling into fists. "I will see the sun sear this body before I let you carry this out. We are not the masters of this world. They are not slaves to us like your pets! Isis motioned with her chin toward the staircase as her lip curled in disgust. This is not finished—"

Set spun on her midsentence, rushing up to press himself against her, Let me in, his words came as a command. His eyes locked with hers. That was how he entered and controlled others’ minds. She knew how to resist him and his mental intrusion, but this was Set, and he was a powerful manipulator of thought. His suggestions tore past her mind’s barrier and she swooned, falling against the pillar that she was no longer aware of. He pressed his body harder, pinning her back against the pillar.

Let me in, Set repeated, this time his words were soft, seductive, inviting.

His liquid-dark eyes searched past hers. His thigh pressed between hers. Rough hands gripped her hips tightly and he pushed harder, breathing his request past her lips, Let me in.

Isis had prepared herself for this. She let him in just as he asked. Let him in and forced him out, just as quickly. Always was their dance, always he had tried this, and always he would. He wanted what she would not give, not just her body but her compliance. This has been the way ever since all the Descendants were sent to this world—Set desired her and she denied him.

Set backed away from her, unsuccessful. But not before she gained what she had come for—the secrets of his mind.

Letting him in allowed her to secretly penetrate his mind as well. She needed to know just how many of the pieces of Osiris he had found and where he had hid them. And she had her answer.

He held three, all locked away in Nubia, and was looking for a fourth in Sheba. She would start there. Locate the one in Sheba and prepare a plan to move into Nubia for those remaining. She would have all the pieces, must have all the pieces to rejoin with her Osiris.

I grew tired of fighting your mental incursions millennia ago, she said, hiding her own mental intrusions. With that, she turned to leave.

"One day you’ll surrender to me and you will see that it is much easier," Set called after her.

Isis did not slow her pace but neither did she hurry. Opening the stone slab again, she made her way out into the desert night and back the way she had traveled. Her mind was whirring with the new information. She had plans to make and instructions to give. It was almost over, and it had just begun.

Set watched Isis leave intently, smiling at his victory. She was so naive, so easy to guide the way he wanted her to go. His ‘failed’ attempt to enter her mind and her ‘successful’ resistance allowed her to garner what he wanted her to see. Three in Nubia, and hunting one in Sheba. That should keep her sated and distracted long enough for him to complete his task.

When the stone slab slid back into place, Set heard a woman clear her throat and he turned to meet the sound. Rising to the top of the staircase was a woman, tall and agile like Isis but with more warrior’s poise. Set knew that this woman was hardly ever seen as a warrior, but he himself would not make the mistake of doubting her prowess in battle.

The woman’s hair was long and dark, and held back in a tail behind her head. She wore a black and gold schenti, and black leather grieves, and her breast plate was one of the finest Set had ever seen—black with the image of a lion lacquered in gold. The strait-bladed sword at her hip also bore a golden lion-head for a pommel. Set was quite fond of that sword—perhaps he could convince her to throw it in as part of the bargain.

You let her believe? the woman asked.

Set smiled, Of course, my dear. I simply suggested that I held three pieces in Sheba and the other in Egypt.

This is good, the woman said, placing her hands on her hips. Her eyes looked distant, contemplating. "Isis was always so easy to control. I will need her Egyptian Daughters to attack Mariib when the transformation takes place. That will justify retaliation and my aim will be served. Oh, and you will have that which you desire."

Set’s smile grew wider. This one was just as naive as Isis, more so in fact. Each woman despised the other, their hatred running deep. Let them carry out their little war and save him the trouble. He did so love a good war, but right then he had more pressing matters requiring his attention. His desires would be fulfilled at whatever the cost.

The woman glanced over to Set, returning his smile, Business is concluded? she asked. Good, now we must tend to your pretty sheep, they are lonely. The woman cut her eyes toward the staircase, removing her armor as she started down.

*********

A broad stream of white penetrated the room. The chamber was designed to best accommodate its single source of light—the moon, as it traveled across the night sky. The chamber’s one window was long and narrow, and presented a slight arc. The shape and length of the window followed the moon’s path as it moved throughout the night, allowing the moon to appear constant and more intense. This particular chamber was never used, save by the King—and only when that king was on his finally march of this world.

You sit with me, lord? the man asked in an almost inaudible voice.

I do, came the only reply.

I was not aware of your presence, the man said, trying to look up from his bed. He was Nephthalteph, Keeper of the Dynasty of Asama’Ra, Pharaoh-King of Egypt. Aged in his final days, and welcomed the call of the next world.

I remain to aid your passing, my friend.

If you remain, Nephthalteph said, then my passing is very near, my lord Anubis.

Yes, Anubis said, resting a hand on Nephthalteph’s arm.

Anubis was an Anakii, those not originally of this world, but sent by the mighty Asama’Ra to defend and instruct. They were gods among men. Of flesh, yet Divine. Their wisdom brought to the world enlightenment of the highest regard.

Nephthalteph kept the gods, all the gods, by staying true to them and never questioning what was asked of him or his people. Their purpose here on this world was one he would never completely comprehend, even though he had spent his lifetime studying the many histories of their people.

Yours has been a long and fierce walk on this world, Anubis continued. "I will prepare you for the next, but only you can prepare for this one."

Nephthalteph turned his head to look up at Anubis, questioning.

Our mother, Isis, Anubis said in answer. "She wishes an audience to discuss your succession. I am to hold your body, and your essence, until matters are concluded."

Nephthalteph could hear no emotion in Anubis’ voice, and he did not expect to. Anubis was the guardian of funeral rites, so death was just another phase of life to him.

Anubis turned and walked to the entryway of the chamber, stepping to one side of it and bowing his head. Nephthalteph could just make out the two figures entering past Anubis. They stopped at the foot of his bead, and Nephthalteph struggled with his diminishing eyesight to see their faces. They were also of the Anakii, tall and lithe, a man and a woman—Isis and Horus.

Great King, Isis began, bowing her head, "I am honored to see you make the Journey."

Horus also bowed.

The two straitened and Isis continued, Your reign has been fruitful, your walk on this world—mighty. But now is the time that you must pass along the staff and crook.

Nephthalteph wanted to speak, wanted to express his own honor in receiving them, but exhaustion kept his voice from him. He had had years to contemplate the one who would succeed him on the throne. Kafleteph, the First Son and oldest of all of his children, would take up the mantle. It had always been known, and was the obvious choice.

Kafleteph had grown to a great man, a great general, and was favored by all in their nation. The fact that Kafleteph had sired no sons, never dissuaded Nephthalteph from his decision. The official declaration still had yet to be made, but even if Nephthalteph passed from this world without making it, the throne would fall to Kafleteph by default.

You have never questioned our wisdom, King, Isis said, as if seeing his thoughts. I would ask that you not question it now.

Nephthalteph blinked at her unexpected statement, somewhat confused.

Isis walked around the bed to stand beside Nephthalteph, I have chosen a successor for the Nation of Egypt, she said, crossing her arms over her breasts and nodding once toward Horus. My son will sit the throne.

Nephthalteph was stunned, even more unable to speak than he had already been. He did not understand why she would choose this way. Kafleteph was his heir, the obvious choice. This could not be right, this was not holding to the Covenant of Ra. Succession was chosen by the King, never by the Anakii.

Nephthalteph struggled to get the words past the lump forming in his throat, Kaflete—

Kafleteph cannot offer a succession past his own rule, Isis interrupted flatly. He bears only daughters. Horus will reign and offer a male heir to the throne. Preparations have already been made, and approval garnered.

Nephthalteph looked up to the ceiling then toward the window. Ra would not have approved the breaking of his Covenant with Man—it had been in place for thousands of years. Damned his weakened state! He would not be able to oppose this decision, would not be able to declare his son before it was too late. What could he do? What course would he have here? This was not the way of his ancestors, nor the way of him and his people.

I will let you take your rest, Isis said with a warm smile. When the time is at hand, Anubis will show you your final steps.

Isis and Horus walked from the chamber, and Anubis once again took up his position at Nephthalteph’s side. Anubis looked down at Nephthalteph, and the king could not understand the expression on the Anakii’s face. Concern showed on Anubis’ brow, yet fury flashed in his eyes.

Anubis leaned in close to Nephthalteph, "But only you can prepare for this one," he said again. With that, Anubis straitened and left the chamber.

Nephthalteph knew what must be done.

Chapter 1

Contents of a Box

Jamila pulled the knife blade away from the man’s throat she straddled. You sell young girls for pleasure. Do you force your payment in trade, as well? she said to him.

He was unable to respond past the cloth rag shoved in his mouth. The bedposts rattled when he tugged against the ropes binding his wrists and ankles but her knots held. She felt the slickness of his bulbous, naked form squirming beneath her, it made her sick. She was still naked too, that was how she had got him to the bed. Straddling him was how she got him to hold still long enough to tie him. Maintaining her ruse for this disgusting man felt like a lifetime. He wanted to go slow, she wanted it over with. Jamila silently vowed to find a faster way to seduce her prey in the future.

Sweat still clung to her, bleeding the dark lacquering at the corners of her eyes. The fine lines drawn beneath the much thicker lines all flowed together. Damn! A lot of work had been put into those.

Clambering off of his swollen form, Jamila looked over her shoulder to the other woman in the room. Bring me the box, she said.

The other woman, Oni, carried over a small wooden box. With a slight shake for its contents, she tossed it on the bed beside the man’s over-large stomach. Jamila regarded her with a dour look, pursing her lips. How in the Hells had she managed to keep at least some of her clothes on during all of this? Surprising, as Oni seldom wore much to begin with.

Let’s just have his cock and be done with it, Oni said. She sounded like she might be describing the color of sand. There was no concern whatsoever in her voice. Oni was far less forgiving when dealing with men.

No, Jamila said, stabbing the knife in the bed post next to the man’s hand. He is going to help us. Go get ‘em.

Oni bent over to pluck the discarded dress up off the floor and handed it to Jamila before leaving the room. Jamila pulled the dress over her head and busied herself with adjusting it. No need to appear disheveled and no need to let the boys see her without it. She was still tying the straps in the back when Oni returned with the others. Two men entered and went straight for the man in the bed, one on either side. Oni finished tying Jamila’s dress straps and gave her a gentle shove in the back. One of the men, Hapteth, gingerly removed the lid to the box and reached inside, his eyes intent on the contents. He pulled his hand out, holding the middle section of a full-grown sand-spider between his finger and thumb, its body larger than a man’s hand with legs even longer than its body. It flailed against Hapteth’s hold.

You know why these are sometimes called camel-spiders? Jamila asked the man, as she took a seat on one of the room’s lounge cushions. Seeing the spider, he squirmed even harder against the ropes. They like to attach themselves to camels, slowly chewing their way inside of the poor thing.

Jamila paused to watch the effect her words had on her captive. The man was frozen in panic and looked like he could pass out. Satisfied, she continued, "After the spider has had its fill, it buries its eggs inside the camel. Oh, the camel doesn’t die. But it does make a nice feast for the babies when they hatch."

It was obvious the man knew what a sand-spider was capable of. The screaming behind the gag told Jamila he was ready to talk. Don’t cry out? she said. The man nodded in quick response. Jamila glanced once to the man on the other side of the bed, Shadow, and he pulled the gag free. The man started to scream but Shadow slammed his hand over the man’s mouth. I said don’t cry out.

Jamila waited for him to nod again and Shadow removed his hand. We need to know where these girls have been taken and how many? And when did it start?

The man looked desperate as he regarded each person in turn. Even more sweat covered his body than before, so much the linen sheets under him became saturated. The odor emanating from the bed made Jamila’s nose itch, which did not help her nausea, and neither did the thought of letting him inside her. What was done was done. Yes, she would definitely have to find a faster way to trick men.

The girls… The man sputtered. The girls…

Out with it man, Hapteth interrupted.

The girls were taken east, the man managed to choke out. East to Sheba or Sumer—

Well, which is it? Hapteth demanded.

He needs motivated, Oni said. Hapteth sat the spider on the man’s chest.

No. No, please, the man pleaded. Sumer. They are taking them to Sumer. Only forty girls were taken. I don’t know when it started. Please, I hate spiders!

Hapteth did not remove the spider, glancing instead at Jamila over his shoulder. Jamila pushed the man’s begging to the back of her mind—at least she wanted to. Torture was something she was sure she would never acquire an appetite for. Hapteth on the other hand…

Only forty, Oni said, shaking her head. "’Only forty’ is only too many!" she stormed out of the room.

Leave it, Jamila said, rising to leave.

No, Please, the man pleaded again. They are still in the city. I can show you where, just get this damned thing off me!

"No, you can tell us," Hapteth corrected and nudged the back of the spider forward. It lunged onto the man’s neck, resting a leg on his chin before it halted.

The man froze in place and tried to speak with lips parted slightly, barely moving. In a ship…in port.

Ila? Hapteth said, glancing over his shoulder at Jamila again.

Leave it, Jamila said simply and pulled her knife free of the bedpost as Shadow jammed the rag back in the man’s mouth. He tried to scream but the rag muffled his protests. The three paid the man no mind as they left the room.

Outside the house, Jamila caught up to the rest of the group. These were her closest friends, of whom she trusted more than any. The three girls—Jamila, Oni, and Bennu, and the four boys—Hapteth, Taruti, Shadow, and Desis, all made up their little hunting party. They were always together, whether hunting or celebrating, or both. Tonight however, would be no celebration, only hunting. Young girls were being taken and not heard from again. Two moons