September 25, 2006

Revised November 17, 2007

Disclaimer: I don't own. Don't you know that?

Warning: Death of character(s).

This story is based on the past life of Amelda. It's set in Ancient Egypt and Gaul. It takes place after Atem gives Priest Seto the Millennium puzzle and makes him pharaoh. I changed Seto to Seti for two reasons: the first is that pharaohs adopted new names during coronation, and secondly because there are actual pharaohs in history named Seti (but none named Seto). Also, Medea (Amelda's past-self) is a woman. The laws of metaphysics allow for a change in gender. If you don't like this, either deal with it or don't read this fic. Bezzelba and Medea are my OCs. Bezzelba is the only OC that isn't based on a character, unlike Miru (Miruko), Phael (Raphael), and Medea. Don't use any of them without my expressed permission.

Medea is named after the title character of Euripedes' play, but she is not based off of her. She is based off of Amelda. Also, I chose that name because it uses the same letters as Amelda with the exception of l.

Egyptian Requiem

by Pearl of the Dark Age

Chapter 1: Holly

Golden light streamed though the branches of the trees. Remnants of morning dew still clung in the chill air as if in denial of the rising sun. The crystal blue sky sparkled with promise, and the puffy white clouds molded into breathtaking shapes. A spray of blood glittered like a thousand liquid garnets before painting the wet grass.

There was not a single bird song to herald this beautiful morning. Cries of pain and screams of fury filled the chilly air. General Phael surveyed the surrounding battle as he removed his sword from a befallen enemy. Most of his comrades were dead or dying. How can we be losing? he wondered. Phael's clan was warring against an invading army. These enemy soldiers were well equipped, but they lacked the hardiness necessary to survive in Gaul. They backed away, and suddenly the battle grew silent. The crowd parted to let their leader through.

So, they are going to decide the outcome by a one on one fight, Phael determined. General versus general? I can defeat any man they throw at me! He stood his tallest, dwarfing the enemy soldiers. He was a heavily muscled man with a calm disposition. His blonde hair reflected the risen sun, gently caressed by the morning breeze. His far-seeing light blue eyes revealed the deep love he held for his country, his cause, and his wife and son who waited for his return home from war.

Phael received a small shock. Their leader was nearly as tall as he was! But the blonde Gaul warrior had never seen anything like this man before! The stranger was clad in white armor and wore his lengthy turquoise hair in a loose ponytail. Even the mismatched eyes did not disturb Phael as much as the smile. Confidence, strength, knowledge, and power exuded from this stranger in white. Deeply impressed even though a little unnerved, Phael addressed his opponent formally, "We will settle this the old way. It is a beautiful morning – one worthy of song and remembrance. Today is a good day for you to die. I wish to know your name, sir, before I kill you."

"I am Dartz, King of Atlantis," the man answered. "I look forward to crossing blades with you, Phael. I see the rumors about you are true." He smiled to himself as if he knew more than he was telling. "You are a solid man with a strong soul. I shall have to remember you after you die." Dartz' sadistic smile widened, and the potent vibe he exuded intensified.

Without warning swords clashed. Phael's clansmen who were still living and able stood side by side with the enemy. Opponents on both sides were in awe of the skills and finesse of the two that were fighting. Loud clangs of metal on metal ripped apart the quiet morning air. Just when the crowd was taking bets on the length of the fight, a yell of pain was heard amidst the grunts.

Blood splattered the ground next to a shattered shield. Phael collapsed to the earth, clutching a deep wound across his chest. Dartz stood victorious, holding an oddly colored sword, looming over the fallen titan. "Remember me, Phael, in the next life. I'm sure we'll meet again."

A three-year-old boy with clay red hair ran through the house, arms spread wide, mimicking a vulture. "I smell blood!" he cried. He ran straight into his mother, fell onto his buttocks, and laughed uncontrollably.

"Are you calling me a rotting carcass?" his mother asked. Her silver eyes twinkled in amusement as she helped him to his feet. "That's not a nice thing to say to Mommy."

"Your hair," the boy replied, "looks like flowing blood." He fingered her long tresses in admiration. "I'm a vulture!" he cried happily. "See me find food!" He pretended to take bites out of her leg.

"If this vulture is hungry he'll have to wait for dinner." Medea gazed fondly at her son - a warm smile hid her worries of the absent father. "Miru, why don't you play outside while Mommy cooks?"

"The wind is too cold," Miru replied in a small voice. His saddened blue-grey eyes fell to the floor. "It's been whispering scary things today. I miss Daddy! He would make the wind be still!"

Medea knelt down to Miru's eye level. She thought of how long it had been since she had last seen Phael. Her heart ached for her husband and her son. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll be home soon." She felt a sudden ominous weight, but she brushed it aside as her imagination. She straightened up as Miru ran out of the house to play. Braiding her blood red hair quickly to keep it out of her face, she snatched up the beheaded chicken and began to yank out the feathers.

Just as she was putting in wood for the fireplace, which doubled as an oven, she heard Miru's screams. She ran to meet him in the doorway. "Look! Daddy's home!" Miru exclaimed in joy. He ran towards the group of soldiers heading towards their house. Medea recognized her husband's comrades, but she could not see Phael. She ran out, forgetting the chicken entirely.

He's home! She thought joyfully. Tears streamed down her face. He's home! He's finally home! I won't have to sleep in a cold, empty bed anymore! Oh, my heart be still! But her happiness was stolen away along with her breath as she reached the group of forlorn soldiers. Miru ran back to his mother in alarm. He was crying, and Medea was confused. He is home, isn't he? She told Miru to wait inside the house for them, and surprisingly he obeyed. As she watched her son running into their dwelling, she could not understand why an expression of fear twisted his otherwise cute features.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry…" a soldier said from behind her. She spun around to face the group again. They gestured for her to come around the back of the horse that followed them. A cart had been hitched, and in it lay her husband.

Medea could not speak. She was faint with fear and panic. Her silver eyes brimmed with tears. "He's not… he's not… is he?"

"He's not dead, ma'am, but he is severely ill," another soldier informed. "He was wounded by a tainted sword. We don't understand why this happened. Their general called off the war after Phael fell."

"I hope good fortune comes to aid you, ma'am," a third soldier said solemnly. "We are sorry… for everything. We all have to leave quickly, too. Our wives are waiting for us as well."

They all helped Medea bring Phael into the house. She set up a bed for him by the fireplace, cleaned and dressed his already attended wounds, and covered him in blankets. The first soldier deposited Phael's leather sack at the foot of the bed. "He wanted to make sure this was returned, even if he wasn't," the first soldier informed her. She nodded, her throat tight with anxiety. "We'll be leaving now…" another soldier said gloomily. She nodded in acknowledgment. She could not bring herself to thank them or wish them a fair journey home. She could only look upon her husband's pale face.

Miru came out of hiding after his father's comrades had left, and he joined his mother. "Is Daddy going to be alright?"

Medea nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. She caressed the side of Phael's chiseled face, and gasped when she saw his eyes flutter. Those sky blue eyes brought a smile to her face, and her heart leapt for joy. Phael focused his eyes after a moment onto hers. He smiled faintly and whispered something inaudible.

"Don't talk," Medea cautioned. "Try to relax. I'll take care of you. You'll be back to your old self in just a few days!" As soon as she lit the fire and put the chicken on the spit, she returned to her husband. "Don't worry, dear. Everything will be alright."

He smiled faintly again and closed his eyes peacefully. Medea leaned in close to make sure he was still breathing. She finally exhaled the weight of her anxiety when she was satisfied of his condition. She woke him up half an hour later to try and get him to eat and drink. He gulped down the water gratefully, but he could only eat a few bites of their meal of chicken and vegetables. A pained expression creased his forehead, and again he tried to talk – gesturing to the sack this time.

"Don't worry, my love. I'll take care of it later." She gave him her most encouraging smile she could muster. "Just rest for now." She grabbed Miru by the arm before he could escape. "It's time for your bed!"

"No!" he screamed. "I want to stay up with Daddy!"

"Daddy wants you to go to sleep. You don't want him to worry about you, do you?" Medea asked rhetorically. He looked extremely put out. She did not encounter any further resistance as she got him into his nightclothes and tucked him in his bed in the adjacent room. After making sure that Miru fell asleep and was not faking it, she returned to the main room.

She stayed up throughout the night, tending the fire, checking on Phael's condition, and waking him up periodically to give him water. During the twilight of the following morning, she stole outside quickly to fetch some more water from the nearby stream. Returning to the house, she saw that Phael was attempting to sit upright. Some water sloshed onto the floor as she hurried to his side. "No! Phael, lie back! Don't strain yourself."

"Medea," he said softly, touching the side of her face gingerly as he allowed himself to be pushed down. "I'm glad I got to see your face again." He coughed, spitting up blood. "I don't think I have much longer…"

Sudden panic filled Medea's chest as it had the previous day. "No! Don't talk like that! Don't talk at all! Lie back and rest! You'll be fine! I'll take care of you! I won't let you die! I swear!"

"Don't make oaths you can't keep, my love," Phael whispered kindly. He smiled at her with more strength than before. "I just want you to get something for me." He pointed at the sack again.

Medea took a few steadying breaths to calm herself. She glanced at the benign looking sack apprehensively and then returned her gaze to her husband's eyes. She nodded and fetched the requested item. There was nothing out of the ordinary in it, but as she rummaged through it, she found a small toy.

It was a soldier figurine carved out of wood. "I made that for Miru," Phael informed her. "Please give it to him for me. Tell him that Daddy is very proud of him and loves him very much."

"You will give it to him," Medea responded. "You are not going to die, Phael! I won't let you!"

Phael grinned at his stubborn wife. "You are as lovely as ever. How I missed your passion. You have always been…" He started coughing again, unable to finish his sentence. He rested his head and closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly.

For a brief moment, Medea feared his soul had departed. She leaned in very close, feeling his faint breath upon her lips. She kissed him gently. Saline droplets fell onto Phael's face from her eyes, streaking down his hewn cheekbones as if they were his own.

"I won't let you die!" she whispered passionately. "I love you!"

A crumbling stone fortress rested on the flat side of an eroded mountain that faced the river that led out to sea. Long ago, it served as a sentinel to the valley of farms below, but now it was home to a vain and lonely sorceress. Bezzelba paced back and forth in her gloomy foyer. Dark clouds were fast approaching upon chilly, ominous winds. She could sense a change in the atmosphere, and she cast a worried glance out the window. She dashed over to survey the countryside below. Teal eyes scanned the distant roads, and she discerned the shapes of General Phael's men.

He's home! She thought ecstatically. He's home! I wonder if he missed me? She grinned broadly, thinking of how wonderful it would be to see Phael again. She was mad about him, and as a consequence – detested Medea. I hope he realizes what a lousy wife she is after he's been away from her awhile! She bit her bottom lip in doubt. Bezzelba just could not see what Medea had that she did not, and it irked her to no end.

Bezzelba was a sorceress, and she was the one whom the townspeople and farmers alike would call upon for aid. She could help their crops grow as well as cure the sick. As she spotted a hooded figure running along the lane towards her domain, she mused, Here comes someone now! She checked herself in her reflection glass, smoothing her long, dark blonde tresses before approaching the front door. It banged open before she could scarcely reach it.

Medea stood hunched over, gasping for breath. The hood of her cape had fallen, and her red hair stuck out at odd angles. "I… need…" she panted, "your… help. Phael…"

Bezzelba's annoyance vaporized into instant worry. "What's happened to Phael?" she demanded. "What did you do?"

"He's ill," Medea answered, regaining her breath. Her silver grey eyes filled with tears. "I tried the best I could, but I don't have your powers. I need you to cure him."

"Of course I can do that!" Bezzelba's teal eyes flashed angrily as she smirked. "You came to the right woman. Did you run all the way here? It sounds serious."

Medea nodded. "His men told me that the sword that wounded him must have been tainted. The gash was not deep enough to be fatal." Medea proceeded to list her husband's symptoms - each sounded worse when spoken aloud.

Bezzelba's expression deepened. She knew what sort of illness it was, and she knew that the progression was slow and painful. It would lead to death if not treated. She made a mental check of her inventory in her head. Yes, I have all the ingredients I need for that potion, she realized. I could save him. He'd be cured in a few days time. She pulled her focus to Medea, who was watching her like a hawk for any clues. Bezzelba bit her lip again. I've got to get rid of her!

Then a fully developed plan rolled into her mind like thunder. She tried her best to smile at her proclaimed enemy. Phael will be mine! she thought triumphantly. This is the opportunity I've been waiting for!

"Can you save him?" Medea inquired impatiently. She looked as if she were ready to collapse from worry.

"Yes, if I had this one particular ingredient," Bezzelba lied. "It's extremely expensive! This old, grouchy warlock I know has it in his stores, but he adamantly refuses to trade it for anything less than royal Egyptian treasure. He's the only one I know who has it, and he's impossible to persuade otherwise. He won't just give it away." She shrugged as if it were hopeless. "If you could acquire some Egyptian treasure, then perhaps there would be a chance…" She let her voice trail off helplessly.

"I'll get it!" Medea stated confidently. "I will go to Egypt and get some! If that's what it takes, I'll do it! I won't let my husband die!"

"Are you serious?" Bezzelba asked in disbelief. "It's a long way to Egypt! You'll be gone a long time. Are you sure it's worth it?"

"My husband is my heart," Medea replied matter-of-factly. "I would die without him. I'll try to be as quick as I can. Can you keep him well until I return?"

"I'll see what I can do," Bezzelba said sweetly. "You go to Egypt and loot for treasure."

"Loot?" Medea repeated, confused. "Can't I just buy some?"

Teal eyes widened in shocked amusement. She tossed back her head and laughed. "You don't have the money, dear! There is no way you could afford royal Egyptian treasure! They'll catch you and behead you for sure! Are you sure you can do it?"

Medea straightened herself to her tallest height. Her bottom lip trembled slightly, her nostrils flared, and her steely eyes flashed passionately. "I will save my husband!" she affirmed forcefully. "Come and stay at my house and care for my son. Wait for my return." And she departed with a turn of a heel, running at breakneck speed back to her home to prepare for her long journey.

"That was interesting," an eerily soothing voice said behind the sorceress. Bezzelba spun around to face Dartz. "What are you conspiring, my dear?"

"It's none of your business, my lord," Bezzelba returned defensively. "I have my ambitions - same as you do."

"Do you intend to save Phael?" Dartz asked. He strode over to her with his turquoise hair fluttering behind him. She turned her face away as he tried to stroke her cheek. His eyes narrowed. "Do you love Medea's husband?"

"I'm only your apprentice, my lord. I can love whomever I wish," she said with a shaking voice. "I'll cure him while she's away. He'll fall in love with me and leave her in the dust!" Her head snapped back to the king of Atlantis. "I only wish I knew who tried to kill him! I would melt the flesh off his bones with acid!"

"If you say so," Dartz replied carelessly.

Medea clutched the toy soldier to her chest for comfort and strength. She had not yet given the toy to Miru to solidify her belief that Phael would recover to do that himself. The Nile Delta came into view over the horizon. She stood at the bow of the ship expectantly, trying to will it forward faster. In all her life, she had never had such a speedy journey. She was almost there, and it only took her a week and a half! Hold on, Phael, she urged. I will save you!

The long ship docked safely in less than an hour later. A ramp was let down, and Medea nearly fell over when she reached land. She had not eaten in several days. A passing Egyptian stopped to give her some encouragement. Medea smiled at the stranger and forced herself onwards. She ambled through the bazaar searching for food. With what little money she had left, she purchased a loaf of bread and a bagful of dried dates. She filled her water-skin at the community well. After resting and eating in some shade, she started to ask passing travelers if they knew where the Valley of the Kings was located.

Many people gave her weird looks, muttering about foreigners. A few even laughed and called her crazy. No one could see how desperate she was. Only one man had provided information that was useful. He had a rat-like face and shifty eyes. Medea felt uneasy, but she could tell that he was not lying to her at least. He gave her the directions and a few tips on how to get past the traps in the tombs. He stroked his goatee and mused about the heat while he talked. He gazed at the full length of her body without regard. "Such a waste – ample endowments such as yours!" Then he looked her square in the eyes and said, "You'll most likely be buried there along with the mummies!" He cracked up laughing and sauntered away.

Medea blinked. She thought that the traps in the tombs had been tall-tales. She had heard of such stories even in Gaul, but she had dismissed them as fantasy. Is it really so hard to rob a little grave?

Cool points to anyone who can name whom Bezzelba was named after! She's not based off anyone, but I got her name from (?).

Holly in the language of flowers means good will, defense, domestic happiness, and foresight.

REVIEWS PLEASE!