Stages
Genres: Supernatural, Suspense
Summary: "They will be able to tell you are among the living. Your soul will be tested. Questioned. And defenseless." / AE, Headdresshipping, Set x Mahad
A/N: Written for the YGO Fanfiction Contest, Season 10, Round Three, with the pairing of Headdresshipping (Set x Mahaado). The story takes place post-AE, and I have tried to be as accurate as I can with regards to descriptions of Egyptian funerary practices and structures, but I have taken a few creative liberties here and there with those and with the canon source material. I hope you enjoy!
Stages
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
"Take it. It's yours now—you have to look after it for me."
He held the box with only the tips of his fingers, unwilling to put any more contact between his body and the instrument that now housed the prior Pharaoh's spirit. The gold made it heavy, but the real weight was intangible. He felt like he has lived the past few days in a dream. Dreams felt like this—heavy, but superficial. Fleeting.
The box caught the light from a torch set high on the wall and the sharp glint was almost blinding. It reminded him that his Pharaoh really was dead and gone, and he tamped down the feelings again, burying them as far as they would go.
"I can't." It was his own voice, strained and soft, and he bowed his head in failure.
"You can." The Pharaoh's voice—no, he was the Pharaoh now, but Atem would never cease to be his Pharaoh. "You will."
Mana waited for him at the gates with a horse; they were oddly vacant at this hour. She had done her job well.
"You have what I requested?" he asked.
"Yes." She handed over a thick sack and he buried the box within it, bundling it to cushion the heavy metal before slipping it over a shoulder. "You must be quick. The guards will return in minutes. Are you sure…?" A sand-colored cloak followed, something to hide his face and the ornaments of his station.
"I am sure." He swung himself up, steadying the horse, trying to forget the way Mana looked at him then. Where before she was always laughing and cheerful, now the only expression he saw her wear was one of deep seriousness, and it was one more change he wished never needed to be made. "No one else must know where we hide the Pharaoh's spirit."
"You are the Pharaoh now," Mana reminded him; her voice broke only once. "You will not have much time. The necropolis…I did as much research as I could, but it is still largely unfamiliar to me. I wish I could go with you."
"This is something I must do on my own." The horse drifted a few steps closer to the gate, as if sensing its rider's hurry. "I will heed your warnings."
"Good," Mana said. "And good luck. If you see him…"
Set nodded, and with a kick the horse jolted forward, taking them further away from the city with every passing second. As the sun dipped below the horizon he didn't dare to look back, only focusing on his destination. It was not far—a little over eighteen miles—and as the time passed and the necropolis grew closer, his only thought was for the box containing Atem's Puzzle, its weight against his back a constant reminder of how important it was that his mission succeeded.
Set found Mana surrounded by scrolls, a few held open on tables and the rest sprawled by her feet or sorted into piles. The new Priestess herself had abandoned her chair and leaned over the table to mark a few places, muttering to herself as she looked back and forth between two different texts. He waited, leaning against the doorway, for a full two minutes before she noticed his presence and waved him inside with a frazzled, "Pharaoh! I'm so sorry, please come in!"
When she bowed, he noticed the spots of ink on her nose. "It's fine. Tell me what you have found."
"If we are to attempt this plan we must do it soon," she said, "before their ba travels to the underworld. There is some hope that they can protect us at the necropolis—"
"—Me. I will go alone."
"Pharaoh! I cannot let you!" Indignant, Mana slammed a hand down on the table, lifting it immediately when she realized she'd just crumpled the edge of a scroll. "Will you not listen to sense? Wanting to go to the city of the dead is bad enough, but going alone…?"
"There is no safer place for the Puzzle. The dead will keep it. No one else would ever trespass there."
"—The city of the dead, Pharaoh!" Mana continued. "They will try to pull you down with them! You could lose yourself there! There is no guarantee."
"It was his last command of me." Set turned away, and though Mana could not see his face she could see the tense set of his shoulders, and knew she could not convince him. "I still cannot believe that he is dead."
"Pharaoh…you must. Listen to yourself. Listen to me!"
"How long will I have?" he asked, ignoring her previous words, and she slumped again against the table.
"The ba are only held to their tombs at nightfall. You will have until the sun rises to make it back out. If you can't…you will not emerge in the same place. I shudder to think about where…" Mana smoothed the edges of the scroll she'd creased, staring at it rather than at him. "They will be able to tell you are among the living. Your soul will be tested. Questioned. And defenseless."
"Will you still help me?"
"Of course I will," she said. "I'll do anything. I merely wanted to point out the dangers!"
"Thank you, Mana." He never used her title, but at the moment she could have used the painful reminder. "I'll need a horse, and a sack, and you'll have to distract the guards…"
The necropolis was built to resemble the city itself, although where in the city the emphasis was on the Palace, here the winding streets led towards the single large pyramid at the very edges, hulking and immense, serving both as a marker of grandness and one of intimidation. There was a reason no one entered the city of the dead, and it was the same reason that made him pause before the threshold now, hesitating even as he tied the horse to the metal gates to keep it from running off.
A plaque set high into the wall read clearly the fate of anyone who would dare to enter. Set ran the words through his mind, and gritted his teeth as he took the first step.
As for all men who shall enter, for the impure there will be judgment, and an end shall be made for them.
"I am not among the impure." The words were more breath than even a whisper, and he began to relax as one step turned into three and before he knew it he was following the central path, his eyes never leaving the pyramid. A slight chill made him pull the edges of his cloak more firmly around himself, and he looked down only to see a man walking ahead of him, dragging his feet in the sand.
Set stumbled only slightly as he noticed on a second look that the man in question wasn't creating any footsteps; the only imperfections in the sand came from his own two feet, and he became even more conscious of the path he'd chosen as he realized that with every glance there was another person he hadn't seen before.
A frail-looking woman lurched out from an alley that split off at an angle from the main path, and in front of him a soldier walked closer, the pyramid at his back. As the two collided they seemed to slip right through one another like smoke on the air, without so much as a notice or apology. He recoiled again, watching the spirits around him, and for the first time wondered what would happen if one were to come in contact with him. His stomach twisted, and he hoped he wouldn't have to find out.
Not all of the spirits were silent, and with the sun firmly gone from the sky the cool air seemed to soak up their voices, weaving the sounds like a blanket. At first he could only hear snatches of conversation between spirits, low chanting, and the occasional scream. At the last he didn't risk turning to locate the source, but that particular sound struck him more deeply than all the others. The sounds were getting louder the further he walked, and he didn't know if it was because the number of spirits seemed to be multiplying or that they were getting closer.
Another side street merged with this one and he noticed the lurching woman again and froze. Mana had shown him the map, and he knew from studying it with her that every street eventually joined together in the end, all roads leading towards the pyramid. It was stupid of him not to take one, especially now that congestion was a real worry and it was getting harder to evade the spirits walking around him. They had not noticed him yet, at least, and he knew it could not be long before they did.
There was no question as to what he would do. The box was a constant weight on his back, reminding him that he could not fail in this. Without the weight it would be too easy to turn and run, in any direction, to let the spirits take him down with them and beg to either be forgiven or to forget entirely.
The clink of gold from the sack cut through the clamor and he adjusted it over the opposite shoulder, drawing strength from it, calming him down—he hadn't even realized how tense all of his muscles had become, and even his temples twinged with the onset of a headache, his bangs sticking to his forehead from sweat. It was the necropolis, he realized, reaching for him, seeding doubt and concession in his mind and expanding on what little of it was already there.
Set frowned, and suddenly his shoulder jerked back as he collided with one of the spirits, a tall, thin man in soldier's garb. Set muttered an apology and kept going, glancing back only once with unease to see that the man was unmoving, standing stock-still as he let the other spirits continue on, passing straight through him. His eyes remained locked on Set, his expression empty.
There were too many to avoid completely any longer, and he shouldered past, moving through crowds thicker than any in his own city's squares. As soon as he touched them they froze, and before long he had to push past them when their spiritual bodies blocked his path. On some level he knew it was his ba reacting to theirs, but still they stood and watched him, as if they were looking straight through him to some point beyond, as though they were the ones who could see through him instead of the opposite.
The entrance of the pyramid loomed barely on the edge of his vision, and as he stumbled through the crowd he kept his hand tightly clenched around the neck of the bag, unwilling to risk dropping it or jarring it loose; this way, he could keep it closer to his body. At the thought, he distanced it again, dropping it to hold it around his elbow rather than his shoulder. He was not worthy to have the Pharaoh's soul so close to him.
A spirit he hadn't even reached yet halted to turn to him, and Set realized he'd spoken the last thought aloud. "What did you say?"
Suddenly, instead of murmurs and chants, the voices changed to repeat the same four words, the question rippling among them like a wave. Then, the four words changed:
"He is not worthy."
Instead of a whisper, the words became a hiss.
Then, as one, they converged.
Set's experience in battle gave him reflexes quick enough to dodge the first attacks, and he kicked out at a spirit, using his falling body as a shield to open up an avenue towards the pyramid. Hands reached for him, scrabbling at his arms, his clothes, the sack, and the fear of losing it strengthened him further. He risked a glance back as he leapt around a cluster of spirits to see an organized group dressed as soldiers overtake the main masses, their eyes and the points of their blades focused on him.
Weaponless save for the Millennium Rod at his belt, Set glanced at the sack in his right hand, filled with a box constructed of very heavy gold. He knew Atem wouldn't mind what he was about to do with it, and he shifted his grip before using it to bludgeon a spirit standing in his way, clearing his path much faster than just his fists and feet had been able to accomplish on their own.
Set could see the single doorway cut into the base of the pyramid, framed by a colonnade. The spirits seemed to be keeping away from it, and he figured if he could just reach it he would be safe enough from them for the moment. With another wave of the sack he cleared his path and sprinted forward, reaching the columns and passing beneath them.
Set did not slow down as he reached the darkened doorway. He ran forward blindly, and his feet hit air as he tripped over the steps, falling and taking the impact to his shoulder and back, twisting just enough to grab the sack and cushion it against his stomach to avoid landing on it.
The impact shook up a cloud of dust, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim interior he realized that he was correct; the spirits were not following him inside. He couldn't hear them, either, and the sudden, piercing silence was every bit as jarring as the preponderance of voices had been.
As he stood, he shifted the sack back to his right shoulder and placed his left hand on the wall, trusting it more as a guide than his eyes, which darted at every shadow. As he walked, he felt for grooves in the bricks, his fingers dislodging sand and loose bits of clay from the cracks.
The more he walked, the stranger it felt—he was sure that the path was straight, as he would have felt it if the wall veered in or out, even slightly, and if the path had led downward, his feet hadn't noticed. It seemed almost perfectly straight, and while his eyes had somewhat adjusted to the lack of light, it didn't seem to be getting any darker or lighter—he could see no evidence of a light up ahead or any remnant of the moonlight coming in from the outside doorway. His fingers scrabbled against the wall for a second, and he realized the sharp groove he had felt was more pronounced than the mortar.
Further exploration told him that even the surface had changed—it was smooth and cool, and he recognized it instantly from living in the Palace. It was a door—made of wood and covered with copper—and as his fingers mapped out the doorway his eyes picked up on more, the glint of metal obvious enough even in the semi-darkness. Dozens, maybe even hundreds, of doors lined the corridor, and his fingers followed them. It became clear enough as he stood there that he would have to pick a door and follow it; he would never reach the Pharaoh's tomb on his current path.
He returned to the first door, his fingers brushing the copper. He found the knob, and twisted it, surprised when it yielded to him—he had expected them to be locked, or to take some force to enter. It was as if the door was inviting him
Your soul will be tested, Mana had said. Whatever was on the other side of that door would prove her words correct. You will have until the sun rises to make it back out. He had wasted enough time standing there.
His free hand twisted the door open, and as he slipped inside, he registered a sensation somewhat like falling, as if the floor had dropped out beneath him, and even though he could not tell which direction was which, he refused to lessen his grip on the bag containing the golden box.
Set glanced across the table, where his opponent was grinning at him, clearly thinking he was that much closer to winning the game. Set hadn't even glanced at his roll yet, and counted the sticks that had fallen. It wasn't enough; his pawn would be moved back to the House of Rebirth, on square fifteen.
"Damn you!" He shot Mahad a level glare, one of his best, and reluctantly moved the pawn. "Are you sure you're not using magic to cheat? I have never played such an unlucky game."
Mahad, amused, collected the sticks for his own throw. "Isn't that best, though, that you expend all of your bad luck on a simple game of Senet rather than something a little more…critical? Like an actual battle?"
From Set's derisive snort it was clear that he considered any game—and particularly the prospect of losing, and even more so the prospect of losing toMahad—as critical enough. "Roll, then. I wish you equal misfortune."
"I've never won yet." Mahad's careful reminder did little to placate him, and his roll was good enough to move another pawn off the board. "See there? I'm only ahead by two. Plenty of time for either of us to secure the win."
"How many games have we played?" Set's question was more rhetorical as he studied the board and the remaining pieces—three on Mahad's side and five on his own, and although Mahad was ahead at the moment Set's remaining pawns were in a better position to clear the board. The wooden, gridded board had been a gift from Atem to his High Priest the previous year, and the two men had played games together when they had the time.
"We so rarely finish them." Mahad's gaze turned thoughtful. "In fact, the last game I was up by this much was interrupted by Mana setting off an explosion in one of the courtyards."
"Well, your apprentice is enthusiastic in her studies—"
"And if I didn't know any better," he continued, "I would think you had set that up."
Set busied himself in rolling the sticks and moving one of his pawns ahead by the corresponding three squares. "I don't know what you mean by that. That accusation is completely baseless."
"Care to wager on this game, then? Admit the truth to me if I win. And," he added, wagging a finger, "if something should interrupt this game I'll take that as a sign of admission on your part."
"Hmph. I accept your wager. Although it's been too quiet around here, you can hardly blame me if something were to happen that required our attention. And what do I get if I win the game?"
"What would you like?" Mahad asked, making his own roll. He frowned when a pawn ended up on the House of the Re-Atoum. "Now I have to roll a two to move that pawn. Although I suppose if I have your usual amount of luck, it shouldn't take too many turns." He grinned again at Set, and the other man didn't return it.
"I fail to see how this is funny."
A voice in the doorway caused them both to turn. "High Priest Set, most things you don't find funny."
"Priestess Isis," he said by way of greeting. "You could use your tauk to divine the outcome of this game, and save us the time and trouble of playing it."
"You shouldn't," Mahad interrupted. "You enjoy the game too much. Tired of my company already, then?"
"What brings you here, Priestess?" Set asked, ignoring Mahad.
"The Pharaoh wished to see you," she said. When Set looked up at her, he paused, the sticks for his next roll still clenched in his hand. His fingers wouldn't unwind; he couldn't seem to make them. Something about Isis's appearance seemed off, and he couldn't place it until he reached her eyes. They looked dark, almost empty, and it was a look he had never seen her wear before.
But he had seen it—somewhere—
A sharp pain behind his temples made him wince, and Mahad picked up on it. "Are you alright, Set? You better not be thinking of using illness to forfeit the game—"
"It's not that." He ground out the answer quickly, turning his gaze away from Isis and back to Mahad. His eyes were normal—he looked like himself. Isis looked like—she looked like—
"Something is strange here," he commented, more to himself than to the others in the room. "You said that the Pharaoh wished to see me, not that he wishes to. I feel like I've done this before." He stared at the Senet board, and the pieces lined up.
"I think my next roll will land me on square twenty-eight," he said.
"The House of the Three Truths?" Mahad glanced up sharply, and Set nodded as he let the sticks go, counting the roll. Just as he suspected, his closest pawn got moved to that square.
"I've played this game with you before." Set stared back at him. "That's one truth. The second is that I did use Mana to cover my loss in that one other game. The third—"
"That's enough, High Priest," Isis began, reaching for his arm, and the second she touched him he knew where he had seen that look before. Her body stiffened, the edges of her being seemed to fade and burn on the periphery like smoke. He had seen it…
"The third truth," Mahad said, standing and moving closer. His own grip felt sure, and as he tugged Set from his chair the room around them seemed to twist and distort. "You are reliving a memory of this game—this is no more than an illusion. Let me help you break it."
Something in his vision twisted violently, as if whatever had trapped him there was unwilling to let go, and before he knew it he was staring at darkness, his back pressed to the smooth wood of a door.
Mahad continued to shake him until he came to, groaning and pitching forward, his fingers fumbling by his sides for the sack containing the Pharaoh's box.
"You refused to let go of it the entire time," Mahad told him. "You never once even considered it. I watched you."
His fingers felt stiff, and he cracked the knuckles in one hand, wincing at the sound. "If that was an illusion, get out of my way."
Mahad chuckled. "I am real enough, my friend. I am still here—I have not left for the underworld yet. You are just in time to see me off. And what, may I ask, are you doing here? You're not dead, I can tell."
Set made his way to his feet, still leaning against the closed door. "The Pharaoh sealed himself away in his Puzzle in order to do the same to the darkness that threatened our kingdom. I plan to hide it here, so that the dead can protect it. They are much better at protecting things than the living."
"I would agree. It's a fine plan, as long as you don't end up dead." Mahad sighed, and pointed down a hallway Set hadn't seen before. "The Pharaoh's tomb is this way. Let me guide you."
Set hesitated, and when he spoke his voice was angrier than he intended. "I can do this on my own. I do not need your help."
"Then I won't help you with any of the trials unless asked. I will only tell you which paths to take." His grin was back, and it only deepened Set's frown.
"You don't understand. I must do this on my own!"
"Why?" Mahad took his elbow, pulling him down the hallway. "We can talk as we walk. Saving time is in both our best interests, wouldn't you agree? You can't have much of it—the illusion sapped at least two hours. I wasn't counting, but it's best to overestimate, considering the consequences for both of us."
"Both of…?"
"I have as much time as you—I can keep the spirits away from you, as I just did, but my ability to do so will weaken as the sun approaches. My ba cannot stay here forever, surely you know that. The others have already gone on ahead."
Set knew who the others were—Atem, Isis, and the other Priests. "Why did you stay behind?"
"I don't know, exactly." They walked in sync, their steps a rhythmic counterpart to the clunking of the sack against Set's shoulder. "Perhaps I knew I would be needed."
"I don't need—"
"Yes, yes, you could have broken out of that illusion just fine on your own. But what about the next one?" Mahad raised an eyebrow, and Set was surprised that he could even see it. Glancing around him, he hadn't even noticed the change in their surroundings. The hallway had opened up, and it seemed to stretch onward not just in front of them, but above them. He could see small torches set far above their heads on the walls, lighting their way, and where before the walls were made of clay bricks, now they were smooth to the touch, and he could not identify the material.
"What is this place really?" Set asked.
"The necropolis? Anything. Everything. It re-creates itself depending on its occupants, you know. Your mind makes the best traps."
"Thank you." The response was acerbic.
"Oh, I didn't mean you specifically…but knowing you, you'll try to outdo all the others." His sigh was dramatic, and he increased his pace. "Lucky for you, I know a shortcut."
Set remained silent as he followed Mahad down a series of ever-changing, winding corridors. Mahad was right, he was lucky. And he could blame no one but himself for the trials they would have to face to reach the heart of the pyramid.
"So this place is like a maze?" he finally asked.
Mahad stopped before a closed doorway, and knocked twice. "Not like," he said. "It is a maze."
A wizened old woman opened the door, and glared at the two of them with her one visible eye, the rest of her face swathed in a deep purple scarf.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"We wish to cross through to…" Mahad paused. "The House of Water. Square twenty-seven out of thirty. I suppose that's as far as you can take us."
"Hmph." The woman's voice was surprisingly high-pitched, and she crossed her arms and continued to glare at the two of them. "You have to pay a toll to use this path. What can you offer me?"
Set glanced at Mahad, keeping his own expression guarded. "A toll…?"
"That's right, I won't let you cross for free! You must give me something. What's in that sack? Care to hand it over? I'll let you go if you do."
His mouth was dry. "Gold."
"Ahh." She sighed appreciatively, unfurling a gnarled hand. "I'll take the gold as my price, then."
Instead of reaching for the sack, Set pushed back his cloak. "If you want gold, you'll take this," he said, slipping the armband off of his left wrist and holding it out. "And this will leave me with enough for the return journey, as well."
The old woman sighed again and took the armband, twisting it in her hands to let the gold catch the light. "This will do just fine. Go on, boys. The path will take you as far as it can."
"Thank you." Mahad took the lead, moving through the doorway after she had stepped aside. Set followed close behind, and soon the passageway grew narrower, twisting and turning at sharp angles. Set stumbled over a loose rock and slammed into the side of the wall, using his fingers more than his eyes to navigate as it grew darker.
"Hang on to me," Mahad said, and stopped walking until he felt Set's free hand grasp the edge of his sleeve. "I won't lose you in here—it may be a shortcut, but the necropolis will still try to trick you and take you from me. You didn't barter for safe passage, only for the passage itself. So don't let go."
Set's admiration for the old woman grew, as did his displeasure with himself. "I shouldn't have been so stupid. If I'd realized that I would have bartered for more."
"You wouldn't have gotten it," Mahad answered swiftly. Set's fingers tightened on his sleeve as the two started walking again. "I thought you were past this…refusal to see what's right in front of you. I can see in the dark, but this must be difficult for you. You should be getting tired of it by now."
"I am tired of it!" He would have stamped his foot, if it wasn't preoccupied with navigating the now slightly sloping floor. "And you're speaking nonsense."
"Set, what motivation could I possibly have to lie to you?" He chuckled again, and the sound echoed off the narrow walls. The ceiling looked to be getting lower. "I'm dead, Set. Do I need to remind you of that? The Pharaoh is dead. If you don't get out of here in time, you'll be—"
"I know-!" He all but screamed it, uncaring that Mahad's ears must have been inches from his lips. "I know he's dead! I know what all of you died for! It shouldn't have—you all shouldn't have—"
"We did not leave you behind, Set. On the contrary, you survived because you were strong enough to carry on and to do what needed to be done in our stead. Atem trusted you with the kingdom, isn't that enough? What can I possibly say to make you accept what you already know? What can I do?"
"You've already done more than enough." Suddenly, he didn't feel like talking anymore. He hadn't even allowed himself to grieve for the people he'd lost, back then, and it all seemed to be coming back to him now.
"Talk," Mahad ordered.
Set pressed his lips together into a thin line, and nearly bumped into Mahad when he stopped again.
"Please," he added. "About anything. How do you feel?"
"I'm fine."
"Clearly. Now, are you ready to answer me honestly?"
He owed Mahad this much; being truthful with the other man was not too much for him to ask. "You don't have to do this. Why are you?"
"Because you are the Pharaoh," he answered. "And because I could not do it in life."
Set shifted his grip so he was holding onto Mahad's arm instead of his sleeve. The paths were getting steeper, the twists sharper, and he didn't want to risk letting go.
"I did not even grieve," he said. "I lost my father. I lost my Pharaoh. I lost my…my light." He thought of a magnificent blue dragon, and tamped the thought back down just as quickly. "And now I must lose you again."
"The necropolis is trying to keep you here." There was a tone in Mahad's voice, something that sounded amused but also restrained. "It allowed me to find you for that reason, I suspect. If the others were still here…" He let the last hang, enough for Set to fill in the rest on his own.
"So what else can I expect?" Set asked. "To relive more of my memories?"
"This place is apart from space and time in that regard—it can make you think you are anywhere. But I think it won't try that path again. You've already proven you can clear it." Mahad turned suddenly, and Set tightened his grip as he followed, catching himself before he would have walked into the opposing wall.
"As for your question, I think you can answer it best. I used the analogy of a Senet board with the old woman—the shortcut will take us almost there. We'll be only a few squares away."
"I am familiar," he answered dryly. "But that particular square…it's very difficult to get off. A wrong roll, and you end up back at the beginning." He remembered the game he'd played with Mahad, and how he'd had to move back to the House of Rebirth on square fifteen. "I don't think I like where this is going."
"Well, continuing on that line of logic, the House of Happiness is a mandatory square for all pawns." He paused. "I don't think you've reached that one yet."
Set let go, thinking to punch him as a joke, when around them the walls started to shift suddenly with a loud grating noise that seemed to cling to his bones. A piece of stone snapped forward, thinking to jut in-between the two, but Mahad jumped back, narrowly avoiding it as the full force of his weight crashed into Set.
"You idiot! I told you not to let go!"
"Get off me," Set grumbled, but took Mahad's hand as the other man pulled him up.
"Our path's been cut off," he said.
"I can see that. How long were we walking?" A chill ran down his spine as he thought that they could be trapped down here inside the pyramid. "How much time do we have left?"
"Enough." Mahad used his free hand to search the walls; the other he kept clamped around Set's free wrist. "The walls will start to move. Trapping us. Herding us somewhere we don't want to be. I know the path—this place can't hide that, no matter how hard it tries to disguise it."
"…So, now what?"
Mahad's grin widened. "Well, it's not going to do anything if we're expecting it."
"You're not helping."
"I said I would only help if you asked it of me," he said. "Are you asking?"
"I-I…" Set sighed, loudly, his shoulders slumped. "Yes. I need your help." It surprised him how liberating it was to admit it. "Help me."
"Now, try to relax—"
The floor dropped out from underneath them, the slope turning into a slide as the two of them dropped further and further downward, their feet searching for purchase on the stone. Set kept an iron grip on the bag, and Mahad kept a hold of him, and as the slope changed sharply to the right his arm strained as Mahad tugged him along in his wake. There was a wall, right in front of them, but before they could hit it the wall rose just enough to allow them to slide beneath it, coming to a stop on a dusty, and thankfully level, floor.
"Where are we now?" Set asked as they both struggled to their feet. Without warning, the ceiling dropped on them, and they raced out of the way, breathlessly running down a series of corridors. Each row seemed to branch off into an infinite number of passageways, and Set had to wonder how Mahad knew which ones to take.
Mahad's response was level. "You asked for a maze."
"Lead on, then." Set allowed Mahad to continue to drag him along, avoiding the crushing, ever-changing walls. They were safest on the stairs, as the walls couldn't come in on them while they climbed. It was the narrower, longer corridors where they often had to squeeze through, and once Mahad even helped him climb over a wall. Set asked him how he knew which paths to take.
"I thought you were familiar with the layout? Doesn't any of this look familiar to you?"
Set paused to think about it while dodging a falling column. "No."
"I'm sure you studied a map of the necropolis, didn't you? The city squares, the winding streets?"
"Wait…" Set stared at Mahad, almost unwilling to believe it was really that easy. "Do all paths end at the tomb?"
He nodded. "We will reach it soon. I'm weakening…I know the sun isn't too far off. But that means the necropolis has a weaker hold as well—this is the hard part. Watch out!"
He pulled Set away from a section of crumbling ceiling above them, and for the first time they could see the path, lined with a colonnade, at the far end of the pathway. They raced towards it as the walls around them crumbled down, raining boulders to bits of rock as fine as gravel. Once they reached the safety of the colonnade, the tumbling stopped, replaced again by a silence so still that it seemed louder than anything they'd ever heard before.
There was a door, covered in copper and painted with accents of blue, and as Set pushed it open he was overwhelmed by it—being so close again to his Pharaoh, and the need for that devotion. He reached into the sack and withdrew the golden box, discarding the bag at his feet. He would find a niche for the box, somewhere treasured. All around him was the glimmer of gold, rooms marked with food and possessions for Atem's journey to the afterlife, but Set paid it no attention.
There were jars and trinkets everywhere, offerings to the Pharaoh, and Set allowed himself to observe the sarcophagus, knowing that the Pharaoh was more inside the box in his hands than he could ever be inside this devoted space. Mahad kept a respectful distance, waiting for him by the doorway.
Set placed the box on a shelf, carefully arranging it, and as he set it down he could hear the clink of metal from the shifting Puzzle pieces within. The dead would keep it safe.
"I'm ready to leave," he said, turning back towards Mahad. "We don't have time to linger."
Nodding, Mahad led the way, watching as Set closed the door behind him. Ahead, the line of columns loomed, stretching much taller than he remembered.
"Thank you," Set said, allowing himself to reach out and clasp the other's arm, even though the gesture was no longer necessary; he did it for the contact, to show Mahad his gratitude. "I couldn't have done this without you."
"I think you'll find that you won't have any trouble seeing on the return journey." Mahad gestured forward. "Shall we?"
The old woman frowned, holding out a gnarled hand as she blocked the doorway with her body.
"Ah, but you have gained something in coming here, haven't you? So the price should be higher." She curled her fingers upward, but Set dangled the remaining armband above her reach.
"I have also given something up." Set's gaze was level. "The toll should not change."
The woman cackled, but accepted, and they were let through. "You don't have much time! Sun's coming. Can't escape that!"
"She's lying," Mahad told him as they raced forward, through caverns and corridors that both looked familiar and foreign. "There's…at least an hour or two."
In the light, Set could see more clearly, and his steps were surer. "Your body…it's…"
"Yes. We do not stay here during the day, our ba is being drawn to the underworld. I did say you would get to see me off, didn't I?"
Set worried that the next time he reached for Mahad his hand would pass clear through the other's body. The path was wider, now, and he could see the different doorways, the copper glinting; there was something inviting about the prospect of these doors, each guarding secrets, memories, fragments—
"Set!" There was real fear in Mahad's voice, and he flung himself forward, using his weight to slam the door closed again, after the other man had opened it barely a fraction of an inch. "What are you doing?"
"I-I can't explain it." He looked equally shaken, staring at the doors. "It asked me to open it. And when it did, I saw flashes of something. Something terrifying…and tremendous. But it…never happened."
"That's right," Mahaad said. "But it could have. That's what it will show you next. And that's a false door—spirits use them to move in and out of here. A false door will trap you more surely than any real memory. Don't get caught."
He knew it couldn't have been real from the first glimpse of it, but the fact that the illusions could tempt him with things like this was almost too much to stand. He grasped Mahad's arm again for support and closed his eyes, following blindly, his mind creating the visions on their own, without the aid of any false door.
A world where Atem was still your Pharaoh. A world where Kisara survived. A world where your death meant that you could travel the underworld for eternity, to see everything it has to offer. It did not have to be so bad—
He snapped his eyes open again, choosing instead to focus on Mahad, like he'd done in the first illusion. No matter what the necropolis threw at him, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Mahad was real.
"We must hurry," Mahad said, locating the right door. "This is the one where I joined you. I will keep the spirits from getting to you."
Set glanced back, and saw them, pouring out of the false doors the same way that they'd chased him in the streets. He ran, catching sight of the main entrance, and Mahad pushed him outside, turning to remain in the colonnade.
"Go!" he shouted. "I'll hold them off as long as I can." A thin ribbon of red was already stretching around the base of the horizon, marking off the deep blue for the sun to rise. "Go! And don't you dare look back."
"I won't." Set nodded, and then he was off, following the main path, now empty, towards the gates. He didn't need to look back, to say goodbyes, to ask for any messages to be delivered to the others. He could deliver them himself when it was his own time to join them. There was nothing he could do to change what had happened; there were no clever traps of his own to ensnare himself in.
He reached the gates and ran without stopping, making sure he was clear before circling back around to his horse. The sun slid over the horizon, and for a moment the light was blinding.
He raised a hand to his face, and waited for his eyes to adjust.
"Pharaoh!" Mana greeted him when he entered the small room she kept to herself to practice magic and store spellbooks. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought you could use a break." His visit was unexpected, he knew, and his almost placid attitude even more so. She cleared a space for him at the table and he seated himself beside her, settling down what he'd brought on the table.
He opened the board and lined up the pieces. "Mana, would you like to play a game of Senet?"
End.
Notes:
1) The title is a reference to the five stages of grief (listed at the top), that Set goes through over the course of the story.
2) Things don't quite work this way with regards to the ba (close to "the soul"), although they are tied to their bodies and return to them at nightfall, and then journey to the underworld during the day. A necropolis is also not quite as described, although I used the one at Saqqara for inspiration with regards to some physical descriptions (distance from the capital, size of complex, pyramids, mastabas, etc), and the inscription of the plaque was paraphrased from a different tomb curse ("As for all men who shall enter this my tomb... impure... there will be judgment... an end shall be made for him" Wikipedia).
3) No one quite knows exactly how to play Senet, although I used what's known as Kendall's Rules in my descriptions of gameplay. Check it out if you're interested, it looks very fun.
4) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your reviews.
~Jess