Temple of Hathor.
Dayl.
Sun Province.
New Kingdom.

Jielz had promised to contact an associate in the wharf and find them passage on a southern bound ship that would deliver them safely out of Egypt much sooner than they would achieve on foot. The unfortunate clause to this plan being that they could not leave immediately. At first the young Nubian argued that they not follow the scholar's plan as he was eager to leave Egypt as soon as possible, but reluctantly agreed to wait until they knew the time of the ship's departure under the condition that they could leave freely if he decided it was too long to wait.

Returning to the Egyptian home where he had served as servant and sorceror, Alzandar paused on the garden's threshold sending out a prayer to Ma'al that he would never again have to enter the household.
Beset wallowed amidst the cornflower and poppies, rising lethargically when we saw Alzandar she approached with trepidation, "You have returned?" The hesitance in her voice betrayed her concerns at the possibility of the visit being short-lived.
Alzandar observed his uncommonly subdued bride, trying to find within him the same rage he felt towards her father and to the ignorant oppressors of her kingdom; yet as she stood before him looking genuinely penitent he could only recall the simple kindnesses she'd given when all others had paid him no heed, "I am back," He confirmed warily.
Alzandar had expected to see some relief on the young woman's face, some hope or optimism; but her features stayed as if carved from marble. She came closer, her footsteps carefully measured but her movements were best described as short, sharp jerks. Pausing before her fiancé, she hovered in his presence until he opened his arms, whereupon she fell into his embrace and broke down into sobs.

As he soothed the woman he did not love Alzandar wrestled with guilt. The violent sobs of Beset were as equally strong as those of Jielz, inspired by a similar heartache. He had no wish to see Beset suffer with that misery; she was a tender but wounded creature, a butterfly with frail wings, and he did not want to be the one to damage her beyond possible repair.

Leaving Egypt would devastate her, but if he could make her believe the love he was meant to feel towards her was true his disappearance would not be so unbearable. The wedding would be an affront to Hathor, a God whom Alzandar ignored and Beset was reputedly on bad terms with already. With that in mind the young Nubian accepted readily Jielz's news that they would be unable to leave Egypt by ship until the evening of the wedding day.

The temple was grand, but during his education Alzandar had learned that exquisite murals and intricate mosaics were to be expected. It was also very open, the high-ceilinged ceremonial hall appeared out of scale to the small gathering there to witness the marriage. Alzandar wandered the room as the final preparations were made, taking in the sheer size and feeling a touch of sardonic mirth that such grandeur was being spent on a sham.

The guests were almost exclusively friends and acquaintances of Beset's and because of this it was easy for Jielz to find Alzandar and speak with him alone.
"How are you?" The scholar inquired politely.
"Much better with you here," The Nubian responded. He cast an eye over his lover's appearance bemusedly, the scholar's robes were made from a rich, immaculate fabric and the lines around his eyes were masked under a subtle layer of Kohl, "As the only man here aware of the true nature of this wedding I did not expect you to dress so finely."
"One has to maintain appearances," The older man replied wryly.
The priest in charge of the ceremony hurried towards them, wringing his hands.
"Young Sir," He addressed Alzandar nervously, "We have yet to receive word from your bride, has there been any indication from her as to when she will arrive?"
"I am sure she will not tarry much longer," Jielz answered calmly, "Beset is almost always late."
"If you are sure," The priest mumbled and politely left.
"On the subject of time-keeping," Alzandar opened the conversation broadly.
"I have calculated precisely," The scholar responded, not needing to hear the rest of the younger man's words to know the topic he was speaking of, "Amidst the joy of the celebrations no-one shall notice us leave, or become aware of our absence until we are many miles down the Nile."
Alzandar smiled at the mixture of reassurance and frustration he could hear in his lover's voice, "If there were not so many here to witness it, I would kiss you."

Jielz had no opportunity to respond as at that moment the wandering attention of crowd was redirected to the entrance as the bride and her escort finally made their appearance. Femi, at the front of the procession, darted to Alzandar's side and gave a quick greeting; before pulling him across the hall to Beset's side.

"Hello," Beset whispered, as the priest began directing the needed people to where they were to perform their duties and pushing everyone else out of the way.
"Hello," Alzandar whispered back.
Beset's lips lifted into a brief smile before dropping almost immediately, resuming the disheartened countenance she had been wearing in recent days. Alzandar's eyes wandered from the lilies in her golden curls, across the canvas of her face upon which many hours had been spent masterfully applying Kohl, rouge and malachite and down her slender neck and chest to the low, curved neckline of her simple, but stunning, dress. Despite her beauty, her resemblance to a muse or deity, it was her eyes that Alzandar stared at most.

Her eyes were a mirror of his own. Empty of passion and love. Filled instead with sorrow and other painful emotions.

"I..." Breath caught in her throat and Beset stopped, instead running trembly fingertips along Alzandar's bare arm, "I'm s-sorry." The Nubian opened his mouth to ask what, but the young woman had already stepped aside and he found himself facing her father, his former master. The sound of flesh striking flesh echoed throughout the hall, followed by startled cries from the guests and the loud thump of a full-bodied man falling to the ground.

The priest was asking a question, but Alzandar did not hear. He lay still where he had fallen, holding a hand to the bitter stinging of his cheek and looking up at the man who had thrown the punch. A hand settled on his arm and although he did not turn to see the young man knew instinctively it was his lover, come to his aid.
"In the name of Ra," Jielz exclaimed, "What did you do that for?"
"I am at war with this scum," Haunk replied casually.
"Have you taken leave of your senses?" The scholar demanded.
"I give you this one chance, friend. Stand aside or share in this boy's fate."
"Will somebody please restrain this madman?" Jielz turned imploringly to the crowd, but found only scared or unwilling faces staring back at him.

Unfortunately, Hanuk did not have the same problem in finding assistance. A group of fellows he had brought with him stepped in and separated the lovers, physically restraining them both.
"This man," Hanuk proclaimed, gesturing to Alzandar to direct the attention of the guests, "is dead."
"He... He doesn't l-look dead," The priest argued, stuttering under the forceful glare of the man he was disagreeing with.
"I assure you, this is the dead prince of Nubia." Hanuk turned to again glare at Alzandar, "At least, he is meant to be dead."
"Who told you these falsehoods?" Alzandar asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
"The words came from your own mouth," Hanuk replied, "...and they were passed along to me by my daughter."
"I looked for you," Beset mumbled to Alzandar from where she stood behind her father, though she would not look at him, "When I could not find you I went to visit Jielz, hoping he may have found you as he said he would." Beset turned to look at the scholar but could not seem to hold his gaze either, "I-I heard you..."
"Heard you plotting," Hanuk continued when his daughter's voice wavered, "Beset heard your plans to leave Egypt and spark a new war between us and Nubia, and she came immediately to me, telling me of your schemes so that I might stop them."
"The word of your daughter is no evidence," Jielz argued.
"Then it is a blessing that we have evidence not even Osiris himself could deny," Hanuk replied flippantly.

A fresh scream echoed throughout the hall of Hathor; a cry of rage, humiliation and little pain, as the forceful Hanuk pushed aside the eyepatch and prised the Royal Seal from Alzandar's eye socket.
"The Royal Seal of Nubia." Hanuk held it aloft triumphantly, "An artifact owned only by members of the royal bloodline."

Hanuk and a group of others moved away to validate the Seal and decide upon what further action should be taken. Jielz struggled free of his captors and hurried to his lover's side; the Nubian had slumped to the ground and was holding a hand to his violated eye socket and did not respond as the scholar embraced him. In his peripheral vision Jielz could see that Beset was watching them with genuine pity, but could not bring himself to acknowledge her.

"We have reached a decision." It was not Hanuk to make the announcement, but instead a close friend of his who worked in the courthouse, "In light of this evidence it has been decided to avoid further conflict the prince and his associate shall be put to death."

Xander Harris's Apartment, Lounge.
Sunnydale.
California.
Winter, 2003.

Rupert's skeptical beliefs were being pushed to the limit.
"'Backstab'," Xander intoned as he flipped his next card. The book of meanings lay open beside him, but he did not turn to it. Near the beginning of the reading the two men had consulted the knowledge within its pages but had quickly begun to understand what the cards were saying without needing to check it.
"'Stone'," Rupert flipped the next card without deliberation. He caught Xander's eye and they both acknowledged that the formerly contrary card now seemed to fit the pattern.

The air felt charged. The silence between them roared like a thunderstorm. Each card presented another part of the story, a story that Rupert had already read in 'The Sorceror's Love', one which seemed to have little chance of a happy ending given the few Witness cards left to turn.

Tomb.
Dayl.
Sun Province.
New Kingdom.

Bound in ropes, escorted by burly guards and the vengeful Hanuk and his meek daughter, the sentenced lovers were taken deep into the tomb. Alzandar looked at the smooth stone walls as they walked, aware that if he had not been caught displaying sorcery while still enslaved he would not have been sold into Hanuk's household and may well have been put to work building the tomb alongside other Nubian slaves; but with Jielz at his side he could not bring himself to regret the path he had walked and held his head high.

The doors to two of the burial chambers stood open as they approached.
"We're to be buried separately," Jielz deduced, sounding deeply resigned.
"You would rather die with the two of you cramped into a space designed for one?" One of the guards inquired.
"I have no wish to die, but if I must I have certain preferences," Jielz sniffed in return.
The guard turned to question Hanuk, who was undoubtedly in charge of the execution; "I do not agree to his," Hanuk dismissed the query before it could be verbalized.
"Please," Alzandar meekly pleaded, "Is there not room for one small mercy?"
"No," Hanuk declared bluntly.
"Father!" Beset's harsh tone shocked everyone. She had been quiet and withdrawn since the revelation in the Temple, but her manner had changed and she glowered at her father.
"Very well," Hanuk acquiesced, "If it is what they wish."
As the guards untied the ropes binding Jielz and Alzandar, the Nubian looked at Beset for the final time. She smiled, her lips strained and thin but from the look in her eyes Alzandar knew it came from every heartfelt piece of love she had ever carried for him. He responded by a similar expression and in that moment, for the very first time; Beset and Alzandar knew the very core of one another.

With the two lovers inside the burial chamber the door was closed behind them, sealing them inside. The chamber was built with enough space for an upright sarcophagus and the belongings one wished to carry to the afterlife with them, it was certainly not suited to hold two adult men.

Jielz stood in the pitch darkness, aware of the younger man's presence by their bodily contact and by his heavy breathing, but he quickly forgot Alzandar was there. His mind was contemplating oblivion and the judgment of Osiris, his nerves were screaming and his muscles tense. He was brought back to awareness when it was Alzandar who snapped first.

Jielz felt himself pushed back against the far wall as the Nubian screamed and suddenly their cramped coffin was filled with darting shadows as the sorceror threw conjured flames at the door, seeking freedom from their fate.
Jielz croaked quietly a few times before he managed to get the word out of his constricted throat, "Alzandar." His fingers brushed the bare shoulder of the berserk young man and at once the flames died.
"Jielz," Alzandar whispered in reply, though the word was perfectly audible in the small, enclosed space. The scholar felt Alzandar's body moving against his own and became aware that he had turned to face him, though they could not see one another; "I am sorry."
"For what?" Jielz inquired, pulling the younger man close, using his tactile sense to compensate for his lack of sight.
"Your death," The Nubian replied as if that should be obvious, "I've caused your death."
"It is not your direct doing," The scholar dissuaded.
"Perhaps not," Alzandar relented, "But if you had never met me you would not be in this situation."
"If I had never met you, I would have lived ten more years; twenty with the grace of the gods, and I would never have known the joy you have brought to me. If, when I had first met laid eyes upon you I had prescience enough to foresee this occurrence I would not have acted any differently."
"You cannot mean that."
"I pledged myself to your service, Alzandar," Jielz reminded the younger man, "I promised I would follow you anywhere, even into death."
The young man trembled in the arms of the man he loved, leaning up he kissed him with all the passion he could find within his soul, "I do not want to lose you," He whispered when they parted.
"Then I shall not leave," Jielz answered, holding the young man's hand to his cheek tightly, "If it takes a thousand lifetimes, I shall find you."

Xander Harris's Apartment, Lounge.
Sunnydale.
California.
Winter, 2003.

"'Promise'." As the last card was turned the locket on the tabletop began to glow. Xander and Rupert both watched in amazement as the metal burned red hot, then exploded. A psychic whisper of words spoken many millennia ago raced through the minds of the two young men, touching parts of themselves either hidden or repressed.

As the moment passed and the tension that had filled the room throughout the reading slowly dissipated Xander regained his composure and looked up, his eyes when they settled upon Rupert became wide with wonder and something approaching worship, "Jielz?"