Author's Note: This one is a bit complicated.
Things you should know:
This story explores how the Scorpion King became the Scorpion King. It was conceptualized before the movie the Scorpion King came out, so it really has no connections to it. It's based on the information in the Mummy Returns, so that's where I've decided to categorize it.
This story is kind of a spinoff to my ongoing fanfic, Set, which is a sequel to my fanfic Isis. You don't need to read either to understand this, but it may add to the experience in the last chapter to see where it all ends up. But this IS a self-contained story and you absolutely don't have to read anything else if you don't want to.
This story is a shorter one, only five chapters long.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything when it comes to concepts from the Mummy Returns. A few historical names are used, and I don't own them, either. Original characters and situations are mine.
Things you can skip reading, but I want to let you know anyway:
This was written in the late summer of last year. It was my first time writing fanfiction in a little over a year, I think. I had just been through some things – including my mother's sudden illness leaving her hospitalized for six months and unable to walk, and the terminal diagnosis of my infant nephew – and I was still suffering depression, making coherent thought difficult. I am not saying this as a 'hey, feel sorry for me', but as an explanation for the odd writing style and less-than-coherent first chapter. I reread it a few times before now and thought it was fine, but now I see that it's a bit of a mess. Still, I enjoyed writing it, and I think it's fun to look at how the Scorpion King came to be who he was from another point of view. But if the quality of writing bothers you, believe me, I understand.
I have taken names of historical Pharaohs, and though my representation is fictional and historically inaccurate, I've done my best to study and to work with what facts we know about them and make it all fit together. I also did a lot of reading about ancient Egyptian society and food and weapons and medicine and all of that in the hopes to make as true a representation as I can. Hopefully any fan of ancient Egypt won't be jarred out of enjoying the story by any major inaccuracies.
All that being said, I really hope you enjoy this story. Please let me know what you think in reviews! (Helpful) criticism is as welcome as compliments.
Nephthys
Chapter One
Around 2920 BC
First Dynasty of Unified Egypt
Egyptian Wilderness
On the fateful morning, the heat was severe in the wasteland deserts of the ancient land. The sun was usually kinder, offering a morning which was pleasant to do work in, but on this day the heat beat down like the severity of a rod, making the easiest of tasks feel monumentally impossible. Still, the day's work must be done, for every person of the little tribe depended on the other.
The most important work of all was being done beneath a large, open canopy, where a few sat waiting anxiously for a dark-eyed girl to complete each task.
The girl kept her long, dark and braided hair tied up with red rag that had faded spots of a darker, brown-red color, which were very clearly bloodstains. This rag sat low on her hairline, catching drops of hot sweat as she worked over a fire, pressing a thick stone violently down into a matching bowl set over the flames. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, and then with bare, worn hands took the bowl from the fire and set it on the sand. She spoke a few soft words as she poured the dark, hot fluid contained inside it into a tall-lipped jar, and then set the stone bowl down again and took up the jar containing the strong-scented fluid and carried it to a woman perhaps a decade older than her, who carried a screaming child in her lap.
The girl pressed the jar into the woman's hand. "Combine this with your milk," she said, her voice unusually deep for a girl of only thirteen years, "And his lungs will clear. If you need more licorice, come back to me and I will make you more."
The woman nodded, holding her child close to her chest and smiling gratefully. "Thank you, Sitiah," she said, and she took her child and left the tent. Sitiah turned, and saw a young man being carried into the canopy by two others. She quickly stood and went to his side.
"What is this?" she demanded, holding her too-long skirt up so she could run across the hot sands to the clearly wounded man.
"Thesh was hunting," explained one of the men quickly.
Sitiah waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, he is a hunter, he was hunting," she said impatiently as she motioned to a clearing in the tent where they could place Thesh. "That tells me nothing."
The two men lowered Thesh to the ground, and Thesh explained, "A lion," he gasped, and motioned to the calf of his left leg. "We wounded an antelope, and a lion desired it for her cubs. The other hunters abandoned the kill faster than I did, and she swiped at my leg to chase me off."
Sitiah dismissed the other men with a stern look, and knelt to examine the wound. After a quick look, she clicked her tongue and said, "You were spared, Thesh. This is a mild wound, for a lion."
Thesh groaned in pain, and then said, "I had hoped it would be terrible enough to justify my cries of agony. I will never again have the respect of the other hunters."
"You were attacked by a lion," said Sitiah, standing and moving to her collection of bowls filled with herbs, plants and foods, picking through them for certain items. "And you survived. You will have more than enough respect to please your vanity, Thesh."
Thesh attempted to laugh, but only managed to make an odd hissing sound.
Sitiah carried what items she needed back to the wounded hunter. Wordlessly, she placed one plate containing the raw meat of a cow that had been killed earlier in the day and a jar of honey on the other side of the man, and then picked up a slice of ginger root, and before he could say anything else, she forced the root into his mouth. "Bite down on it and you will not bite off your tongue," she explained, "And the ginger will help to build your strength."
Again, Thesh groaned, and when Sitiah picked up a needle of bone and a thread, he closed his eyes. She stitched the most grievous parts of his wounds back together, and ignored his grunts and hisses of pain, only speaking to him to demand he keep his leg still. When she was finished, she removed the ginger from his mouth, and leaned over him to take up some of the raw meat. As she leaned, the onyx amulet of a cobra she wore around her neck brushed against the tip of Thesh's nose. He reached up and tapped it with his finger, and Sitiah gave him a dark look.
The hunter was unapologetic, and smiled instead of appearing shameful. "I find it fascinating."
Sitiah pressed the raw meat into the more shallow wounds to stop the bleeding. "It is mine and mine alone, and not for you to touch." She pressed down hard, causing one of the wounds to sting like a burn. Thesh's fingers dug into the woven blanket beneath him, and for a time, he said nothing. He watched as the girl worked, pressing down meat and leaving it, wiping her hands on a white rag, leaving thick spots and lines of red.
Finally, Thesh made his dislike for silence clear by speaking again. "Will I need less traditional medicine?"
"If you want your leg to be pretty, perhaps," she replied, not taking her eyes off the wound. "What will you pay me?"
"What can I pay you?" asked Thesh almost incredulously. "It is well known that there is nothing that you want."
Sitiah knelt in silence for a moment, her eyes still on the wound, each finger moving up and down as she counted the time the meat had remained on his leg. Finally, she glanced at him through the corner of her narrow eyes. "The Dark One has given me power I cannot yet use, for lack of ingredients for potions. Agree to bring me the claws of a lion, and your leg will heal as beautifully as it ever was."
The young hunter's eyes widened. "A lion? After-?!"
The young medicine woman nodded. "A lion. You have been attacked by one and survived, you must know you have the ability to survive hunting one, if you are more careful." Sitiah began removing the meat, piece by piece. "It doesn't have to be an adult's claws. The claws of a cub will do."
Hesitating to give his answer, Thesh watched as Sitiah placed the meat back on it's plate and took up the jar of honey. She spread it on the wound thickly, her eyes focused as ever on the task at hand. Her eyes never wavered from what it was she needed to do.
"Very well," he sighed. "I will need my leg in perfect condition before I go to hunt the lion."
Sitiah nodded as she glanced at his face only briefly, and then she whispered words in the language their darkest god had taught her, and leaned forward so her face was near his wound. Her full lips then formed an 'o', and she blew air softly on the claw marks, and a chill filled Thesh. A moment later, she leaned back, and offered him her hand. Thesh took her hand and was surprised how warm and strong it was as she pulled him into a sitting position.
"I only need to wrap the wound," she said, getting to her feet. "And then you need to return home and rest for the next three days. I will come and change the linen twice a day. On the third day, you will find no mark on you."
Thesh grinned and opened his mouth to thank her, when angry shouts began to fill the camp. Curious, they both turned their heads towards the center of camp, where the loud clanging of metal echoed. Sitiah turned to look at Thesh again, and then motioned to all waiting underneath the canopy to stay there. Then she turned and stepped out of the canopy.
Men in neat, white woven clothing stained by the desert, and metal armor carrying spears and battle axes filled their little camp, pulling people from tents. Sitiah rushed forward as a man with a broad chest shouted orders for everyone to stay quiet and listen.
"You are all now citizens of Egypt," he announced loudly as Sitiah stopped beside a girl a few years younger. "We have taken this land as is our right, in the name of our Pharaoh. As Egyptian citizens, you owe us your allegiance. You will give us everything we require: Food, water, and medical supplies. And you will all kneel down and swear your loyalty to Anedjib and united Egypt."
"No," came a sharp voice behind Sitiah. As the army shifted to look at this rebel and the people gasped, Sitiah groaned inwardly. Thesh came stumbling around her, and stopped just before the Egyptian warrior. "We are wanderers. We have no loyalty to any land, only to each other. We live together in balance with everything around us. We are no citizens of your country."
The Egyptian narrowed his dark eyes at Thesh, and then motioned the tip of his spear towards him. Two other men came forward, taking Thesh by the arms roughly. The jerking motion caused Thesh's leg to collapse, and soon he was on his knees. One of the men took Thesh by his thick, wild hair, and pulled back to expose his throat. As his people watched in horror and with cries for mercy as the Egyptian warrior took a dagger from his waist, Sitiah only frowned. And as Thesh's throat was slit and his dark blood poured down his chest and turned the sand black, Sitiah felt a coldness fill her.
She was very sorry for Thesh, but not because he now lay slowly, painfully dying, desperately fighting to breathe while he choked and drowned in his own lifeblood. She was sorry he was passing into the afterlife still owing a debt to the Dark One. Thesh had not lived to repay the magic given him, and now he would spend eternity in a great blackness, keenly aware of the passage of time, unable to ever rest. But that was what happened to those who made foolish, rash decisions.
While the camp cried as one as though they were a single being, the Egyptian warrior put his knife away and spoke loudly, "I demand what dried food you may have, what water you may have, and all medical supplies. And if any of you are skilled healers, you will come with us back to the camp of the Egyptian army."
A few of her people glanced at her fearfully, afraid of what would happen to her. But her heart was calm and her head clear as she stepped forward, he head held high. She approached the Egyptian warrior, standing close as though they were familiar with one another. "I am the most skilled healer in all the land," she said, her voice perfectly level and with no trace of arrogance. She knew she was speaking the truth. "I am, perhaps, the best healer in all the world. I will go with you and heal your soldiers."
The Egyptian examined her with narrow eyes, perhaps doubting her words due to her youth. But there was no question in her voice, no tremble to betray a lie. So he nodded, and motioned for her to follow him. As they left the camp, the other warriors raided, stealing what precious food, water and linen they had. Her people had learned to befriend and trade with many great cities to get what they needed, and they were trusted above all others, but now with nothing left to trade their future was uncertain.
Sitiah walked calmly, her eyes not wavering once from the man that led her. He took her to a chariot, and helped her step up before getting on behind her. She held on to the edges as she examined the other things around her, horses and wagons and worn-looking men who had travelled too far. It was only a small party, but this group could have very easily subdued the entire camp. It was, of course, for the best that Sitiah had chosen to leave without a fight. But Sitiah had never been one to choose the more difficult path.
After a time, the other men arrived and loaded the wagons, taking their places in them or atop the horses, and then they were off, riding into the desert through the abusive heat of the bright sun.
They arrived, finally, as the sun was beginning it's descent. The camp was much less organized than hers had been and everywhere men lay, groaning and crying out in the throes of agony. Sitiah dismounted and quickly approached, walking across the camp and looking down at each man, deciding whether he would live or die, who was deserving of her attention first, who it was she would save and when. When she was finished, she walked to the place where the men had unloaded her medical supplies, and opened a small chest and drew out a handful of crystals before looking to a few men.
"Take my supplies and place them in the center of the men, and then unwrap a few bandages and leave them nearby," she commanded. As the men objected, the leader of them stepped forward to silence them.
"Do as she says," he ordered them. "For the healing of the wounded, she is the commander." And then he turned to her, and had to tap her shoulder to get her attention as she was focused and setting the crystals in a certain pattern in her palm. She looked up at him in annoyance, but he pointed to a man that lay beneath a tent. "He must be the first."
Sitiah shook her head. "You ought to listen to your own words," she said with annoyance. "I am the commander now. I will treat who I will treat, and when I will treat them."
"He is our general," he countered.
Sitiah shook her head. "All men are the same to me, none worth more than another. I will treat those who need it most before any other."
The commander took a sharp breath and said loudly, "He was hand-chosen by the Pharaoh himself! You cannot let him die!"
She had already turned her attention back to her crystals. "He is low on my list because he will not die before I come to him. You brought me here so that the best healer in the world could treat your wounded men. I will not tell you how to lead an army. You must let me do my work."
With that, she stood and walked out to the center of the camp, and then knelt down and carefully pressed the crystals between her palms, and then raised her face to the sky, her eyes open wide. Her Dark One was not one to choose one man over another, either. He would answer her prayers for the Egyptians as he had those who worshipped him.
After her prayers for the ability to heal all who needed it, she stood and collected a stick of incense, and lit it in the fire that was already going, heating a thick pot that held some sort of foul-smelling stew. She then waved the incense over her head as she walked in slow circles around the camp. The commander seemed anxious that she get to work, but he knew interrupting her would do no good.
When finished, Sitiah threw the stick into the flames, and then turned to the commander and explained, "I cast a few spells on your uninjured soldiers for strength and courage. They will be able to carry on, even while the injured men recover. Feed your uninjured this food you have cooked, but give none to the wounded. I will feed them what they need to gain strength."
The commander agreed, and Sitiah set to work on a grievously injured soldier, though he most certainly did not carry the worst of the wounds.
"Why do you begin with him? Surely some of the others-"
Sitiah took up the plate of raw meat and a linen bag filled with little stones and said, "The other men will die. There is no sense in prolonging their suffering."
The commander's face went gray, and he went to one of the youngest of the injured soldiers, one who would never be touched by Sitiah, and took his hand and whispered to the boy. Sitiah ignored the man and placed a piece of dark stone in the mouth of the wounded man she worked on. She leaned in so close that her lips brushed his ear. "Keep it in there until morning." And then she went to work on his wounds.
She repeated this process time and again, until finally she came to the general in his tent. With her she carried a few small jars and the nearly-empty bag of little stones. She knelt beside him and examined the gash across his thick, broad chest filled with strong muscles before glancing only half-heartedly at his face. His features were oddly well-balanced, placed on his face as though it were deliberate. His hair was thick and long, parts of it braided. His eyes were full of pride and a hot anger that was not directed at her, nor perhaps any other person in the world.
"It took long enough," he sighed, and perhaps some of the anger was directed at her.
Her eyes left his face as she opened the bag of stones. "Perhaps I ought to have left more of your men to die?" she asked, her voice detachedly curious.
Again, the general sighed, and he let his head fall back against the blanket roll beneath it. "No. You made the right choice," he admitted, though he sounded as though he held a grudge against her for it.
Feeling that the conversation was over, Sitiah withdrew another stone from her bag, and held it before the general's closed mouth. She waited for him to open it, but he only stared at her with his intense, fiery eyes.
"What is it?" he asked finally.
Annoyed, Sitiah held the stone closer. "Black tourmaline. It will assist in the healing of your wounds."
He raised one of his long, sculpted eyebrows. "In my mouth?"
Sitiah kept her gaze on his eyes. "Yes. You had your men bring me here away from my people to be your healer, and you trust me to heal your wounded men. Either you trust me now to know what to do for you, or you do not care for your men and refuse to be treated the same as them for fear I have killed them all. Which is it?"
The general paused for a moment, and slowly lowered his brow. "You have fire," he complimented her. "I like that. I wi-"
She did not wait for him to finish speaking before shoving the stone into his mouth. He coughed for a moment and looked at her with clear irritation, but she had already begun to treat the wound across his chest. He watched her silently as she applied fresh meat his men had hunted, and threaded a needle. He reached his hand up to remove the stone from his mouth, and she quickly and viciously slapped his hand down. He laughed and moved his hand again, and this time she remained focused on her task.
"Am I allowed to know what my healer is called?" he asked, his voice full of confidence. She hated his assumption that he could have anything he asked for, so for a moment she refused, and instead shoved a piece of ginger into his mouth.
But then she realized the inconvenience of only being called 'healer', and she said, "I am called Sitiah," and then stabbed her needle of bone into his chest. His fist closed around the stone as he bit down on the ginger, but he made no sound. She sewed the part of the wound that was too wide to ever close naturally, and then removed the ginger.
"Matthias," he said. She turned to him with an expression of confusion, and he grinned. "My name. Matthias."
"Your name does not matter to me," breathed Sitiah as she applied a thick, stinking salve across his wound and the skin surrounding it, her hands firm and her skin soft and they moved expertly across his bare chest.
Matthias smirked. "Perhaps it will tonight."
Sitiah gave no response in words or expression. She finished her work, and collected her things before standing. Before she left the tent, she looked back.
"You can keep the stone in your mouth, or not at your discretion. It matters not at all to me what you choose." And then she was gone.
The night was thick as Sitiah retired to her bed. She had been given a small bedroll near the edge of camp, and she collected a few of her things with her. The men had insisted that most of her medical supplies remain in the center of camp, but a few of her crystals, dried herbs and salves came with her, along with a large container of beer. She had refused the stew and ate only what she had brought, some ginger that burned her mouth, a slice of thick and hard bread, and a handful of dried berries. Her stomach ached for more, but though she had eaten nothing else the entire day, she refused to take food from the Egyptians.
Matthias had tried to insist she share a bowl of stew with him in his private tent, and when she told him he was not to touch the stew, he asked her to join him for a drink of beer instead. She again refused, and that had been when she left the fireside and went to her cold corner of the camp.
Sitiah lay in the bed as she watched the stars, and her fingers played with the amulet around her neck as she muttered prayer after prayer to the Dark One. She listened as one by one the men left the campfire and went to sleep, and when the night was silent and the dark was deepening, it began.
The first sound echoed from across the camp, a loud choking sound. Another soon followed, and then another, and soon the camp was filled with nothing but the sound of throats closing and air desperately trying to get out of Egyptian lungs.
Sitiah stood and gathered her things, placing them in a bag she'd swiped from Matthias's tent when he wasn't looking, and she began to walk across the camp towards the place where the horses were tied, shifting from hoof to hoof, neighing nervously.
The wounded men sat up and looked around themselves, panicked and unsure, their own lungs clear and throats open. Sitiah heard the first man fall as she stepped over the corpse of a man she had not had time to save.
A man nearby gasped 'healer', and shouted, "What is happening to them?!"
There was no reason nor any time to stop and explain to the wounded that the stones they had held in their mouths had saved them from the curse she had laid, and the poison she had slipped into the stew while she had lit the stick of incense. There was no reason to tell them that the spirit of the Dark One had felt the protection around them and had passed over them, only because she had chosen them to live. No reason to tell them that they had been spared only because they were too wounded to chase her.
As Sitiah untied a brown horse, Matthias stumbled from his tent, "Sitiah!" he shouted.
She ignored him as she crawled towards her, and ignored his roar of anger when the second man dropped dead, his own blood gushing from his mouth. "What did you do?!" he demanded.
Again, there was no reason to respond, so Sitiah kept quiet. She swung her legs over the horse, and nudged it forward to run across the sands. She did not know where her camp was, and it didn't really matter. The Egyptians belonged to a land, and the people of her camp belonged to each other. She belonged only to the Dark One, and he would lead her where she needed to go.
The Egyptian camp was quickly becoming nothing but a red and black spot behind her, but still she could hear Matthias's cry of rage.
The days passed slowly, painfully, and emptily. Sitiah was in the desert alone, with no way of knowing where she was or where she was going, and could only pass her time praying and working with what little herbs she had. She cleansed her crystals, crushed the mandrake down to a fine powder, cut her ginger down to strips and infused her salves with spells. Her mind threatened to leave her in the endless heat and sand, with no sign or relief or people in sight. But she clung to her amulet and her prayers and made it through three days with little trouble. Her legs and back ached, and she was worried the horse may soon die without water and she would have to walk until she found people, but she knew her god would not abandon her. The Dark One would keep her safe in the desert, and would guide her to an oasis or a city that would take her in.
But neither came to pass. She woke from her bed of sand one night to the neighing of horses. She looked to her horse, and saw it lying in the sand, it's breath stopped. The neighing grew louder, and she looked around herself. In the deep darkness, she could see movement. As she watched, twenty men approached, most on horseback, some in a wooden wagon dragged behind the horses. Sitiah sighed, and gathered her things to her, and stood and waited for the men to approach.
At the lead of the men was Matthias. He leapt from the horse before it came to a full stop, and pulled a dagger from his waist. He approached her, his head as high and eyes as full of pride as were hers.
"The healer Sitiah," he said, his voice loud enough to fill the desert. "The murderer Sitiah. You have been captured by Egypt, and will be brought to Egypt to be imprisoned, to await execution."
"Why?" she asked matter-of-factly. "Why would you wait until you arrive in a city in Egypt to put me to death? Your men have no qualms in killing men with no hesitation. Why wait to spill my blood?"
Matthias paused, and that pause told Sitiah what she needed to know. She knew the curiosity in his eyes. He wanted to know how she had killed his men without touching them.
But what he said was, "You provided services to the Pharaoh. It is only his right to choose to end your life."
The corner of Sitiah's mouth turned upward, and she slowly rolled her bare shoulders back to stretch them. The corner of her mouth moved further upward when she saw Matthias notice the movement. "Very well. Whose horse should I ride?" she asked slowly, her tongue then moving to wet her lips.
Matthias's brow twitched upward for so brief a moment she almost didn't notice. "Mine," he responded, speaking just as slowly. "I need to keep my eyes on you."
Sitiah nodded and stepped towards his large, black horse. "Very well. Make sure you watch me closely. You may miss something important."
They rode a few more hours through the night before stopping to make camp. Matthias insisted she sleep in his tent with him, and tied ropes around her ankles and wrists. Her heated gaze and heaving chest said all; she did not need to speak a word.
The next day they continued their ride northward, stopping only twice to rest. She did not speak, though Matthias asked her questions about how she had killed his men, how she had healed the injured so quickly, how she had so much power, and how could he have this power for himself. She said nothing. The time wasn't right yet. When she changed into clean garments that night, she didn't bother to hide herself from his gaze.
It was the following afternoon that they found the Nile. The men praised their own gods in relief, knowing that they had finally arrived home alive. Sitiah watched dispassionately, as did Matthias. In fact, she noticed something harder around his eyes now that they had arrived in settled Egypt. She leaned further back into his chest as they rode on his horse.
When they camped for that night, she again went to his tent, and found him anxious and incapable of sitting still. Sitiah stepped forward, holding a jar of beer in each hand. She offered one to the Egyptian general. "To calm your nerves," she said, the first words she had spoken in the days since she had been captured. Matthias barely seemed to notice as he reached for it, and drank the entire contents so quickly Sitiah was concerned he would be sick. She sipped her own as he called out to the men outside the tent to bring him another. He soon had another jar in his hands, but this one he drank slower.
"Not happy to be home, Matthias?" she said his name slowly, as though savoring it.
Matthias grunted and knelt to the ground. She sat behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders, rubbing them to release the tightness of the tension in his muscles. He seemed distrustful at first, and then sighed and relaxed in her grip. "Egypt is not my home," he confided in her. "I was a citizen of Kash long before I was a citizen of Egypt. But I heard of the mighty power of Egypt and longed to join it, and the great generals heard of my great skills in fighting and strategy. I was brought into Egypt at a young age, but I have always known that I am not Egyptian, and it is not my home. I have no home."
Sitiah listened closely to his words, her grip on his shoulders growing stronger. "You have allegiance to no land, just as I do." Her voice was just a warm whisper in his ear.
He nodded. "My allegiance is to myself, and myself alone. And it has occurred to me that returning to Egypt with less than half of the men I left with will not do much good for me, even if I return with the witch who killed most of my band."
"A witch?" Sitiah formed the words carefully. "I have never been called that before. I am a healer, and a worshipper of my god, and nothing more."
Matthias snorted. "I have never heard of a healer that could cause men to choke and drown in their own blood," he said, almost laughing. "How do you come by such power?"
She said, "But I have heard of men who cause other men to choke and drown in their own blood. I did the same, only in another manner. What does it matter how?"
He turned to look at her eyes, their faces so close together she could feel his warm breath on her mouth. "I want your power."
Sitiah allowed him a smirk, and leaned in a little closer. "That's not all you want," she said.
She didn't need to move or to speak again. His mouth was on hers before she could draw in another breath. His strong arms wrapped around her body and pressed it against his, pushing painfully against her. She pushed back against him, hands first flat against his chest, and then moving skillfully to remove his clothing. He released her to give her more freedom to tug the fabric loose from his body, and then his long fingers moved to do the same to her. They undressed each other, her with gaining urgency, he with slowing movements. At last they came to only two items, her amulet, his great golden bracelet.
Pausing, Sitiah reached for his wrist to examine the ornament. The gold was polished to so great a shine it nearly hurt her eyes to look at it. It was so large in size that it nearly covered his whole forearm. The shape of it was of an enormous scorpion with a mean, curved tail, yet it had the face of an anteater with a curving, wicked tongue.
Her dark eyes moved slowly to his face, and she held his wrist up to his eye level, and asked curiously, "What is this?"
Matthias half-smiled, the lids of his eyes lowering. "It was given to me by my father before I left for Egypt. It was made in Egypt long ago, and my ancestor was given it in payment for his medical services. Intimidating, is it not?"
Sitiah's eyes moved over the golden creature again. "Why does it have the wrong face?"
Shrugging his broad shoulders lazily, he replied, "I don't know for certain. The face is likely of Set, the god that killed his brother for the throne of Egypt."
"Set?" she repeated carefully. A familiarity flashed her eyes, and then she moved to remove the bracelet.
Matthias pulled his arm away. "I do not remove it."
She frowned for a moment, and then wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth against his passionately. They fell back on his blankets, hands and mouths covering each other, and with each second she gained speed and he lost it.
Finally, Matthias's eyes shut. He lay still for a moment, and then fought to open his eyes again and glare up at her. "What did you do to me, witch?" he demanded harshly, though his voice had little energy in it.
Sitiah leaned away from him, and reached behind her into a small bowl he had not noticed her carrying. She lifted a fistful of some substance and then let the fine powder fall slowly back into the bowl. She turned back to him with a smile.
"Mandrake powder," she informed him. "It can put any man to sleep. Of course, it was a great help that you drank that beer as quickly as you could."
Furious, Matthias began to stand, but fell over each time he tried. He fell back, his breathing heavy, his eyes closed. He tried to shout, but could only manage a whisper before sleep finally took him.
Sitiah reached out with her foot and nudged his chest to be certain he was asleep. And then, quickly, she dressed in his clothing. She moved to take the great golden bracelet from his sleeping body, but hesitated. She looked up at the man's face, his expression not quite restful but not quite violent, either. And she chose to leave the bracelet with him.
Pulling the front of the tent apart a little, Sitiah looked around the camp. There were only a few men, far off, still drinking and laughing obnoxiously. They were clearly drunk. All others were asleep. Matthias's horse was not far away. She gathered what little she had and put it in a bag as quickly as she could.
Carefully, she crept out of the tent, and then gained confidence with each step, straightening her back and standing as tall as she could, adopting the unique swagger that Matthias walked with. When the men spotted her from far away, they only raised their jars of beer to her. She gave them a sharp, dismissive wave with the arm Matthias did not wear the bracelet on.
The horse didn't mind when she took its master's place atop it. And then she turned, and off she road into the desert.
Artificial: And there's the start of our story! I hope you enjoyed it, despite it's flaws. Please leave a review, it really helps me grow as a writer. Thank you!