Author's Note- The Witch is BACK!! Cackles madly until she realizes people are watching

Okay, okay, I really must apologize for the absolutely absurd lateness of this recent chapter. Already I have written and rewritten it at least four to five times, gone through bits of writer's block, as well as having my muse suddenly disappear and reappear at the strangest of intervals. I truly hope this chapter is worth your while since it's pretty much purely my creation.. It may seem quite odd at first, but I hope a bit will be explained as well. At least fan fictionally speaking anyway.

10

A SCARRED SOUL

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls;

the most massive characters are seared with scars."

-Kahlil Gibran

Darkness. Pure and utter darkness is what greeted me, at first. I felt as if my soul were caught. Tilting dangerously between this world and the next. Trapped on a plane of existence my own magic had sent me for the man I had grown to love since that very first vision of him all those years ago.

Then I felt a strange sensation overcome me. I felt as if I was falling thought oblivion, a void of nothingness. Panic quickly overcame me, filling me with fear.

Great Gods, help me! Had my sudden bout of confidence been nothing more then a foolish mistake? Had I been so arrogant to perform the ritual wrong? Was I not trained enough to perform a ceremony so sacred and dangerous such as this?

Or was this my destiny and that of the Akkadian's, to die in this desert side by side?

No, I thought. Had that rang true I would have sensed something, anything to warn me. Besides, I must put my faith in the Gods, and pray they are with me. That they will help me save him.

Suddenly the dangerous sensation stopped as abruptly as it had started. And a tingling warmth that erupted in my skin replaced it. There was a flash of golden light that temporarily blinded my vision. Then images filled my mind, like those of memories.

Memories that were not my own…

…Two Akkadian boys ran through the dirt streets of their village, as the red sun started to set. Both wore faces of a certain type of happiness. As if they were running to something that they had waited to happen for quite a long time.

Out of the two boys I couldn't help but be strangely aware of the youngest one. The boy who was slightly lagging behind with his shining brown eyes, and copper skin. His dark hair fell to his chin, yet a single strand fell past his shoulders in a small braid. From his young manner I guessed he couldn't have been more than six or seven years of age. I could tell that from his braid, and the unmarked leather cuirass he wore on his chest he must have just started his warrior training.

For some reason or another I could feel as if I knew him from somewhere, but where I could not yet place.

"Brother wait up!" He called to the boy far ahead of him, running to catch up.

I could suddenly see the older boy slow down a bit for his younger brother.

He shared several traits with the boy before him. He had the same copper skin, dark hair, nose and brow, yet he looked so different from the little one. His jaw was squarer, and his cheekbones were a bit more broad. He may have been ten years old, but young wisdom shone from his eyes. His hair fell to his shoulders, and his braids were a bit more plentiful. He also wore a cuirass with several scars in the leather material.

"Come on, Little Brother!" He said to his younger companion. "When father arrives from battle in the Warrior's March do you want to be in the back of the crowd where no one can see?"

"No, of course I don't," The little boy replied, instantly quickening his pace to keep up with his older brother.

The two turned to corner to see a crowd of many people along the cities main dirt street. All were women, children, old men, and young warrior's unable to join in the latest fierce war.

"The march has already started!" The little boy exclaimed, obviously excited.

"Well, let's not just stand here!" His older brother scoffed, yet he too could not contain his glee.

They both ran into the crowd, pushing just like the excited children they were to get to the front. Just as they finally made it to the edge of the dirt street the crowd of Akkadian people let out a roaring cheer. For at that moment, their warriors had just started to march down the lane.

"Do you see Father yet?" the older boy asked his little brother, peering in the sunlight to try to see the faces of the warriors that marched into their village.

"No, but we'll see him soon," the younger boy replied to his brother, his sudden confident tone surprising me.

It was then something about the Akkadian warriors made it's self known in the near dying sunlight. All of them wore hardened looks on their faces, as if they were fighting a great grief inside. Odd, since the Akkadian's where a tribe of warriors. There had been legends of their war celebrations. All of them making one thing clear:

When they win a victory they made it known to even the high mountains that surrounded their valley.

The younger boy seemed to notice this as well. As did some of the other Akkadians, who stopped cheering and whispered among themselves.

"Someone of importance must have been injured," Spoke a elderly Akkadian warrior behind the young boy.

These words caught the youth's attention.

"Brother," The little boy spoke, turning to his older brother; his face looking slightly alarmed. "Did Prince Urmhet go to battle? Did he get wounded?"

His older brother turned to him, and shook his head.

"Remember, he was commanding the east wing since King Rahotep gave him that privilege on his birthday?" He reminded. "That was pretty long ago. Little Brother. Besides this is the wing that came to the Prince Urmhet's aid once he called for them."

The little boy's face suddenly filled with realization.

"That's right, sorry Brother, so much has happened since then."

The older boy nodded.

Once again, the two boys directed their attention to the march before them. As they did, it had become rather obvious to the whole crowd something was quite wrong. They had won the war so why weren't their warriors celebrating? The only reason why they wouldn't be was either a person of royal family was injured…

Or a great warrior had been slain.

The boys continued to search for their father's face, the youngest standing on his tiptoes to get a better look at the warriors. All the while, his face was starting to show with worry.

"Where is he? Where is Father?" The young boy seemed to ask impatiently to no one in particular.

His eyes flitting from one warrior's face to another, almost looking as if they were praying to the gods above for a familiar face to rest on.

"I don't know, Brother," His older brother replied, he too was searching.

It was at this moment the cart that hauled the dead had started to rolling into the streets of Akkad. The young boy gave a gulp when he heard its creaking wooden wheels draw near. The simple cart drew closer and closer, the noise echoing in the boys head like the sound of doom, then the cart pulled by a single black horse rolled before the two boys.

At first, the young boy looked utterly confused. After all, around him he could hear gasps of shock and women suddenly break into tears. He just didn't understand.

Why where they crying over this single warrior, wrapped in royal red linen so that his face would not be seen by the world?

Rather abruptly, he felt his older brother grasp his shoulder.

"We have to go," He told his young brother. Looking at the warrior whose face was hidden in the blood red funeral shroud.

The young boy looked to his older companion with confused eyes, and opened his mouth to question when his brother snapped.

"Now, Brother."

The two boys ran, following the cart. The older one, looking grave. The younger one looking baffled. Why was his brother acting so peculiar? And why were people he didn't ever know looking at him with such sad eyes?

Every now and then he glanced to the cart. When he saw something that made him gasp. A familiar glint of steel that had caught his young eye.

There, next to the dead warrior's side, was a rather familiar rather beautiful looking scimitar. The pommel of gold and dark wood seemed to gleam in the red sunlight

The boy must have known whose scimitar this was. His jaw had dropped, his bright eyes darkened and widen in horror.

"Brother!" He started in a bit of panic. "Is- is that…"

But he could not continue. Shock wouldn't let him speak.

"Come on," His older brother spoke quietly. "We must find mother quickly. She'll need us when…"

The older boy trailed off, not knowing what other words he could use to speak. But no words could comfort the younger boy who followed him, feeling both the agonizing pain and deadness this brought to his heart.

But that was nothing compared to the sudden aching he felt when his brother dragged him before the Akkadian palace of sandstone and clay. Before the steps stood a women with the same thick black hair, cooper colored skin, and majestic jaw-line as the two Akkadian boys who ran over to her. Yet her face was still hidden as she stood looking up to the palace doors.

"M-Mother?" The younger boy called out hesitantly.

The women turned, her almost regal beauty quickly evident. Yet the most fatal flaw with her beautiful face was the silent tears that ran down her cheeks from her dark eyes.

"My sons…" She breathed softly.

At once the two boys went to her side, and quickly wrapped their arms around her in an embrace. All three sharing the same pain in their hearts as well as their souls. The horrible sound of the cart that carried the Akkadian dead drew behind them. Letting go of her two sons, the boys mother turned to the cart as it slowed to a stop behind them.

Taking a deep breath, the youngest of the two Akkadian boys went to the cart. His hand going to the scimitar handle and pulled it out of the leather sheathe. Looking at his reflection in the blade he saw the reflection of his own eyes, looking haunted and burning with tears, as he looked to the fallen body of his father…

…The sad, strange, almost memory-like scene faded like the smoke from a fire. As soon the imaged blurred away, another took it's place. An image that must have been several years later…

…Night had fallen as five Akkadian children walked in line, all their wrists bound by catgut rope, all forced to walk behind a scarred face ruffian dressed in a old scarred cuirass, his graying hair in wild braids riding on a rather plain brown horse. It looked as if these fearful children were being paraded for all to see. None of them spoke a word since they all seemed to be in fear of what could happen if they did. Few of them bore cuts and bruises on their faces, other's where streaked with dust. One of these children stood out in a rather odd way, almost like a ring of gold in the desert sand.

A boy whom I knew, without a doubt, was the same young boy from the last memory. But now he looked older, perhaps eleven or twelve years of age now. He was still just a boy of course, no where close to a man. But he looked a bit wiser, and a bit taller as well. Those once shining brown eyes of his seemed to have a dull luster, and his dark hair fell to his shoulders, but he still wore the braids of an Akkadian trainee in combat.

He had to have been the oldest in this small group of Akkadian young ones. And the younger ones seemed to know this quite well, for each of them glanced at him unsure and slightly frightened until he returned their glance. Seemingly speaking comfort without saying a word to them.

Suddenly the ruffian turned his horse around a rocky bend to reveal a campsite of such. Flickering bonfires shone before tents of hide and cloth rose above the desert floor, all rather crude and shabby looking. All marked with strange decorations from various different tribes, all looking quite menacing in a child's eyes. Men of all size and color seemed to dwell in this camp as well with their women and children. All of them wore odd arrangement's of tunics, cuirasses, chain-mail, and leathers. But all of them seemed to have been marked the same.

This was a camp of bandits. Men whose only loyalty lied in the most number of duranas they could try to get out of traders pockets. Men driven by greed to raid, pillage, plunder, and even sell innocent people into lives of slavery.

Despite their fear the children could not help but quietly looked at their strange new surroundings, curiosity winning over their fear. Even that peculiar young boy seemed to be regarding this bandit camp with interest.

The ruffian led the Akkadian children to a large tent in the center. A tent marked with skulls on a large spear. Dismounting and tying his horse to a hitching post, the ruffian looked to the children, greed glinting in his black eyes.

"Come on you children of Akkadian whores!" He scoffed, laughing heartily as he untied the rope that bound them to saddle and jerked them into the tent.

It was dark in that circular room of cloth, yet the dying fire gave enough light to see three men who sat around the flames. All dressed in a strange array of tattered breeches, scarred cuirasses, tunics, chain mail, and other clothing I couldn't I identify. I couldn't truly make out the features of their faces but I could some how sense their manner.

These men were the leaders of this group of outcasts. Man who were heartless, only interested in the tribe and their own well being.

As soon as the ruffian led the poor children through the tent flap the three quickly greeted him like a brother in business.

"Aswad!" One of the three exclaimed sitting on a chair of leopard skins. "About damn time! How did the raid go?"

The ruffian turned to him, a bit of a sobering look on his face.

"We've had better raids I fear," Aswad, the ruffian replied.

"Indeed" Said another of the leaders, standing up from his throne like chair of wood and animal bone.

He paced before the terrified youths before him, observing them like they where objects rather then living breathing children.

"This is a rather scrawny crop, Aswad."

"Scrawny perhaps, but still able to serve food, and whatever else the bastards who buy them wish them to do."

"Indeed" Replied the third leader, as he sharpened his sword.

Suddenly the second leader of the camp stopped before the older Akkadian boy. Despite his shadowed face, the boy could see him raise and eyebrow. This boy didn't cower before him like all the other children did. Instead he looked in to the man's eyes. His defiance and disgust shining like a flame in the shadowed tent.

"Well, well, it appears you've not just brought us Akkadian whelps Aswad, but a young warrior as well."

"What?" spoke the tribal leader who had been sharpening his sword, looking up in surprise.

"We found that one trying to save one of the other young- ones. He was a bitch to capture that's for sure. He fought like a lion, but one swipe with a broad edge of a sword knocked him out." Aswad said proudly.

The man before the young warrior snorted.

"Sounds typical of the tribe who enjoys meddling in other's businesses."

Without warning, the boy lurched foreword, cracking his skull against the offending tribal leader. Gasps from Aswad, the other two tribal leaders, and even the Akkadian children filled the room.

The leader stumbled back several paces, his expression one of more surprise then pain. Finding his wits once more he walked to the boy and swung his large fist at his face. The boy didn't make a sound when the fist hit his jaw, he only turned back to the leader, and spat blood in his face.

"YOU LITTLE BASTARD!!!" He pulled out his sword, just when one of the other tribal leaders stopped him.

"Calm yourself, Sefu!" he said. "Remember, we have ways of taming ones like him."

Sefu, the leader with his bronze sword in his hand looked to his fellow leader, then to the boy; who stared stonily back.

"Fine" Sefu barked, sheathing his sword. He turned to a guard who stood in the shadows of the tent's exit.

"Tie this loathsome son of a whore up where the sun strikes, with no shade, and no food or water for three days."

The man grunted, stepping foreword, undoing the ties that bound the boy with the rest of the Akkadian children, but not the ties around his wrist. He yanked the boy from the tent, but not before the young warrior gave a cruel grin.

For at that moment all the other children lifted their heads, there eyes like defiant as their older companion's…

…Instantly another memory played before me, giving me the feeling that this one was a day or so later…

… The boy was bound, hands above his head, to a pole in the unforgiving sunlight. Horrid bruises marking his arms and chest, his lower lip, and the place below his nose was caked with dry blood. Sweat trickled down his sunburned brow, yet he still held his head up high. He only glanced slightly as a dirty, gap toothed bandit approached him.

With a wicked smile on his face, the bandit offered the boy a drink from his clearly empty waterskin. The boy looked at his disgusted and spat bitterly in the bandits face.

In a sudden frenzy, the bandit began to start a flurry of punches as short as they were brutal. Once he was done with beating the boy he pulled away. Wiping the spit from his face and walking back down to the slope to the camp. But he didn't see the young boy smile, one of the bandit's rather small hair daggers cutting into his hand…

… Once again I shifted through memories to what must have been not too long after the last image…

…The boy, still bruised and bloodied crept silently through the tent, a dagger gleaming in his hand. A young girl, several years older then him, dressed in slave girl garb appeared before him, her dark eyes widened at what she saw, but the young boy put finger to his lips and motioned to the door of the tent.

At first she didn't under stand, then she nodded. Quickly disappearing through the tent flap. Meanwhile the boy followed to where the slave girl had been. Instantly finding a sleeping, nearly nude Sefu on his cot.

Filled with pulsing wrath he crept up to the mans side. Raising the dagger above the man's chest.

"This is what's typical of Akkadian warriors, you half-wit," the boy said in a dark voice.

Sefu instantly opened his eyes, just in time to see the young boy crash the blade down…

…Several images of a fire and the children escaping flew through my head briefly. But before I could focus more on them, another more powerful memory had shown before my eyes…

…It was grand place in ruin. Its great roof had somehow been torn off, it's tapestries where in shreds, small fires ruined the great marble floors, and a regal throne of leopard skin had been ripped apart.

In the center of the once grand throne room, lied a lined face man with silver hair and a simple crown on his brow. Yet I knew with out a doubt who this was, he could be no one else but the last king of the Akkadians.

This man was the great King Urmhet, and he was slowly dying from the bleeding inside his body.

Next to him was one of his trusted warriors, an oddly familiar man whose face showed signs of becoming as lined as the great kings, yet he still had a young air about him. A triangle was tattooed between his eye brows, lion like paw prints on his cheekbones, and he had a high brow and the dark hair of normal Akkadians.

Suddenly he was joined by a younger man of what must have been nineteen years. At once I felt a strange connection as I had with the young boy. Although his back was turned to me, I could see several scars mark the skin. As well as long dark hair braided in that of a warriors.

Conversation was exchanged by the young man and the great king. Yet I could not hear a word that was spoken. Not until the great king started to cough up a great deal of blood.

"King Urmhet!" the young man cried in shock and fear, never having seen his great king, a man who had been like his father since his true father died, in such a horrible state.

The king put on a determined face, and clasped the young man's shoulder as he would a son.

"You… Must… avenge… us…"

At with that the great king died…

…More and more images of violence and tragedy played behind my eyelids. All of them leading me to an odd glow, as if at the mouth a great cave. Then shortly after a scene that I witnessed atop a tent, where I watched two familiar Akkadians become showered with arrows from familiar looking guards in red turbans, there was a blinding light. And once again I fell into blackness.

---

I could feel something soft and feather-light touch my forehead. As well as a gentle voice calling my name, at first distantly, then gradually growing louder.

"Wake up, Sorceress, Wake up."

Not finding it in myself to refuse, I blearily opened my eyes. At first I couldn't focus on anything before me, but slowly I noticed the scents of water, grass, and lotus blossoms. I could also tell I was laying on something rather soft, a mattress perhaps. Then my eyes slowly focused on the scene before me.

I was in the water gardens of some palace, that was certain; above me was a roof of limestone, etchings of strange characters all around me. Above me was a sky of deep violet, emerald, and orange. Neither was I alone.

There sitting right next to me was a fearsome creature. It seemed stand taller then I did, and must have been almost as big as an small elephant. The creatures head was that of a man, but it's body was that of a massive lion.

I gave a gasp and jerked up instantly, just as a woman's voice spoke from the shadows.

"Fear not Cassandra, the Sphinx is not a creature that harms those who are taken by us into this realm".

Hearing her voice the great creature stood up on it's four legs, its eyes looking once more into mine, and walked past me into the dark shadows of the garden. Meanwhile, I turned to where I heard that voice. At once its owner stepped before me.

She was a regally fair woman, who seemed… Oddly familiar from somewhere, as if from a dream.

Her dark eyes seemed to be specked with bits of gold; her long raven hair had a deep blue glow to it, and her skin the color of copper. She was dressed in regal white robes, gold necklaces at her throat and bracelets on her wrists. I could just a golden headdress crowning her dark hair, yet I could not make out the odd figure atop it just yet for my head started to reel. I could almost swear I heard her give a chuckle.

"Most mortals don't perform the type of ceremony you did and instantly jump right up to finish their usual chores, Cassandra," She informed me with a laugh in her voice, striding up to where I was.

"Most mortals can't perform the ceremony at all," I couldn't help but point out a little rudely, laying my head back.

This time I knew I heard her laugh.

"Indeed, if that where true, then Apep truly would have even greater hell in his realm to the Gates to the Living."

I heard her words, yet I couldn't understand their meaning just then. My head seemed to lurch and spin. Rubbing my temple, I softly asked her, "Where am I?"

"Well, certainly not the Western Fields of Paradise. Not yet anyway, Sorceress."

At once I was confused. The Western Fields of Paradise? But that would mean that I had… that I had died. How-? Then the image of the Akkadian warrior I had fallen in love with pulling an arrow-head from his own flesh before pitching forward into the sand filled my memory. I jerked up once more, my heart seemingly stopped at the memory.

"Oh Great Gods, Mathayus!" I cried suddenly.

Ignoring my spinning head I turned to the women.

"Please, I beg of you, tell me he's not-"

"Fear not," She replied. "He isn't, thanks to you."

At once a flood of relief passed though me into my soul, I could feel my heart start pounding once more. Reviling to me truly how desperately, and deeply I had come to love him. Carefully, I lied my head back down just as the women continued.

"You truly did a risky deed, you know, you weren't quite ready for such a ceremony but lucky for you Auset, Djehuti, and I heard your cry. Especially with all the mortals being ushered to Maat's scales these past moons."

At first I felt a bit of an odd taken aback feeling, as my mind stopped spinning. Remembering my prayer I suddenly turned to the women once more. She claimed that she knew the goddess Auset and the god Djehuti? But how-? Suddenly I could clearly see the figure atop her headdress.

It was a golden scorpion! It's intricate singer poised to attack, it's red jeweled eyes glinting in the light.

I couldn't help but gasp. Could she be…?

"You… You're…" I felt started to stutter like a surprised child. "You are…"

At once a wry smile lit the women's face.

"Ah! I see you're wits are returning." She replied in an almost playful voice.

I couldn't help but stare at her, my mouth partly open in surprise.

This wasn't just any women. This was the feared and respected Selqit. The goddess who, both, nearly killed a noblewomen's child for spurning the wandering Auset and also who helped with the birthing of the great god Horus.

At once I lowered my eyes respectfully. Internally scolding myself for such work I had spoken earlier.

"I apologize, Great Goddess Who Makes One Breath. Had I known who I was speaking to I can assure you I wouldn't have been so curt." I spoke softly, my voice filled with great reverence.

In the corner of my eye, I could see the goddess shake her head.

"No need for titles, royal protocol, or apologizes for that matter, Cassandra." Selqit replied.

I looked up to her, filled with questioning. Somehow she must have sensed such. She gave me another smile, like a friend would give another before she once again spoke.

"You are one of Our children whom We gifted with the gift with the Gift of Sight," Selqit told me. "We brought you here, and you are a guest."

I nodded, feeling very honored at once to be such.

"Now, you perhaps maybe wondering what it was that you went though, and why in all the Sands of Time, that We brought you here," The Goddess spoke suddenly, her tone suddenly as businesslike as that of a Gomorrahian trader

Once again I nodded, a rare smile flickering on my face.

"Well, it did cross my mind I suppose you could say," I replied.

She nodded, the smile flickering on her face shortly before a serious look replaced it.

"When you preformed the ceremony, something happened that we have never seen until now. You of course know, that the curing ceremony involves taking the essence of the illness into yourself. But when you did such, something more happened… Something that only happens when a mortal's heart is weighed in judgement. "

"What exactly?"

Selqit looked to me, her golden flicked eyes looking into mine.

"You beings became entwined, and you received a glimpse into the Akkadian's soul."

At once my breath caught. My mind once again started spinning but now with the images of violence and tragedy.

"You mean those images where..."

"Memories. Moments in time that crafted your Akkadian into the man he is. Pains inflicted onto him. Scars so deep that even his own soul bores them."

"And that young boy that is, was, the man I tried to save?"

"Indeed, they are one and the same."

I fell into silence. Those images clearly resurfacing in my mind. If those where truly the memories and events that happened in Mathayus' life, then he was more of a warrior then I even thought he was. How could such a brutal being have such an innate goodness that, despite the horrid losses and pains inflicted on them at such a young age, and still not become tarnished by the evils of man? How could such a ruthless assassin have the beating heart of a great and fair king? Lord Memnon could never come close to such a character no matter how many times he claimed to be to his soldiers.

A new respect for Mathayus flowed in my veins, and my love for him seemed to grow and flourish in my heart like a well cultivated flower. I looked back to the Goddess.

"It that why you brought me here?" I asked her. "To tell me such."

"That is one reason." She replied. "Another is to give you a simple warning, since I cannot speak of any more the you need to know."

I felt my throat tightening at the dark feeling of foreboding that pricked my skin.

"As you know the Time of the Prophecy will soon fall upon mortals," Selqit told me in a voice as strong as stone. "History and Legend shall be created on that night. Everything, from the world you know now, to the world that will be, will change. A great empire will rise or fall, and you, Cassandra, still have a great role to play in this plan."

A great shiver went down my spine. Fear flooding in my veins. I swallowed hard at what I feared that meant.

"Do you mean my role… by the Great Teacher's side?" I spoke quietly, my voice a small whisper.

I could have sworn I saw her eyes flicker at the sound of Memnon's title, but I must have imagined it.

"No, this is a role that will soon come to you." Selqit told me, her voice haunting. "Only remember this: destiny is sometimes written in stone, other times… well, the smallest of things can create the greatest of changes."

I looked to her curiously, my fear replaced as I became baffled at the Goddesses vague, riddle-like message. But before I could ask anymore questions, she looked to me. Lifting her hand suddenly.

"Take care of yourself Cassandra. Take care of your Mathayus as well… he too as a role to play in this moment of Legend as well. I count on you to watch out for him, he may be a warrior, but even warrior's need someone by their side. Especially one who have no one."

Selqit seemed to speak of Mathayus in a strangely gentle way, in fact it was almost...

Motherly, I thought

It was then, as she looked to me I realized how her noble brow, her golden flecked eyes, and her fair yet regal face seemed to resemble another women… A strong women who, despite the tears running down her face held both of her sons in her arms, sharing in their pain including one young boy who would later become one of the most feared assassins in the known world.

But just as realization dawned on me, she gently touched my forehead. Like a spark of flame, a light burst behind my eyes. Leaving all other thoughts beside Selqit's riddle-like warning, and the images of Mathayus' past behind. There was once again the sensation of falling into a golden light, with winds whipping around me like the sandstorm I saw not to long ago.

Then everything, fell into the golden light.