CHAPTER THREE

Path of Destiny

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Mummy (1999) except my OCs.

"Suffering in search of truth gives true meaning to the truth."
― Muata Ashby, Ancient Egyptian Proverbs

As screams echoed in his ears, Imhotep tried to focus on anything, anything but the pain that threatened to push him further into insanity. The girl. The beautiful girl's face appeared in his mind again. Her name seemed to slip in and out of his conscious thoughts. It seemed to him that each time her existence was pried from his mind, the demons would laugh in glee, reinstating the memories of them, their life together, their love…

Was this to be his torment? To relive his most significant failures? To see what he had lost? His life continued to flash before him, not only the bad memories but the good ones too. He felt like an observer. Things he had no recollection of surfaced, and he was thrust into that world once again.

Thebes- 1325BCE

Kher-heb sighed wearily as he began to retire for the night. It had been a very long day in the temple. Though he was not the high priest, he had many duties that fell to him on the days when he seemed to feel the most exhausted. It was almost as if the universe knew when his bones ached the most and when he wanted nothing more than to rest his head on his straw mat. He had worked day in and day out for the past twelve years. Most priests only worked every few months, going home to their towns, wives, and childrenーonly coming back when duty called them. A brief pang of sadness went through his heart at the thought of those whom he had lost to the hands of time. Shaking his head to clear the pain in his heart, he pulled up at his loincloth, to no avail, for his stomach had become quite portly in the past few years. The leopard skin resting on his shoulders shifted a fraction and began to feel heavier than normal to his weary bones. He ran his hand over his oiled scalp and sighed, continuing to putter around the darkening temple, thinking of his comfortable bed waiting in the room beyond.

Most of his duty nowadays commenced being a teacher to the young boys whose fathers wanted them to become priests. The occupation was passed down from father to son. The aching in his heart increased. He had no son of his own to pass his wisdom to. Extinguishing each candle on the walls, he was lost in his thoughts. Each day was painful for him, but to conceal his torment, he had built up walls around himself.

Try as he might, he did not have a knack for being soft and understanding. He had a reputation of being a bit of a hard worker. He demanded absolute respect and perfection from his students and nothing less for himself. His duty to the great God Osiris was what mattered to him most. The pang of sadness that never seemed to leave his chest threatened to overwhelm him most days, but still, he worked tirelessly.

The temple he resided in was a place of worship of Osiris and Ra. The God of death and the God of the sun. A fitting juxtaposition, he thought. His back ached as he picked up a candle from the far end of the room. The cavern he was in was dim now, and the other priests had gone to sleep early, having done their duties. He groaned again as he moved slowly across the room, stopping to put out the torches and close down the center of worship for the night. He would have to be up early to wake up Osiris in the Lighting Of the Fire ritual. Yawning, he hobbled down; each torch extinguished, making the room appear more and more inky black. The darkness settled into the cracks and crevices around him. Faint splashes of color could be seen on the walls. He thought of curling up on his mat with his pillow and blanket and felt a sense of weariness as the day was drawing to a close.

Suddenly, there was the sound of footsteps hitting stone, slapping against it loudly through the silent gloom. The sound of a baby beginning to coo reached his ears. He looked up from his duties, momentarily shaken out of his need for respite. I'm just hearing things. I'm tired, that's all. The sound of a piercing wail broke the silence once again. Kher-heb stopped what he was doing immediately and began to hobble towards the temple entrance, rubbing his lower back with his left hand as he went. The small candle he held didn't emit much light, but the moon was full tonight. Bathed in moonlight, he could make out a small bundle of sticks sitting in the entrance. Frowning in confusion, he walked towards it slowly, and peaking over the crudely made basket, holding up the candle to see, a tiny baby wriggled and squirmed beneath a mass of linen blankets. Its small mouth opening and closing in frustration. Another piercing wail hit his eardrums, and he grimaced. A child? Here? Who would leave a child here?

"Come now, child, shhh, shhh, it will be okay," Kher-heb whispered calmingly. He set down his candle on the floor. The moon offered more light anyhow. Picking up the small baby, his back cramping, he cradled it to his chest, searching within the blankets for any indication of a name or a note. But he found none. Children were often left at the palace as offerings to the pharaoh, but none were ever left at the temple. He frowned again. Strange. Well, at the very least, the child is a boy. That bore well for the child's future at the temple. But he could tell that the child was hungry by the way he fussed about, his little head turning from side to side in an effort to be fed. Kher-heb knew of no pregnant women or recent mothers nearby to feed the child. He cradled the boy to his chest a bit firmer to ward off some of the chills from the night air. From that, the boy seemed to take comfort and settled down, his face bathed in moonlight, serene.

Standing up from where he had been kneeling over the useless basket, his back continued to ache. Still, he carefully and softly held the child to his chest in the same comforting manner. He wouldn't be able to grab his candle, but he knew his way through the temple easily enough. Without his cane, though, it would be slow going.

Finally reaching his chambers for the night, he found a spare pillow made of linen. The pillows the priests were given were above the lower class but not made of the finest materials like those in the palace. It would have to do for now. He placed the petite babe on the make-shift bed, hoping the boy would be silent for the night. There was not much he could do in terms of feeding, and he felt a pang of guilt go through him. He laid down on his mat on the cool stone floor; his face turned towards the baby. He could hear the baby's soft breaths of sleep, and he breathed a sigh of relief. This baby is unusually peaceful, he thought. You'd think that for being abandoned, he'd be making more of a ruckus. Listening to the soothing sounds of the little life beside him, Kher-heb drifted off to sleep, dreaming of names for the little boy. He had wanted children of his own, but his wife had died in childbirth many years before. His heart ached at the thought of it, but as he drifted off to sleep, he felt a glimmer of hope blossom in his chest. He felt at peace for once in many years. A name appeared in his mind—He Who Comes In Peace, Imhotep.

1310BCE

Imhotep walked through the halls of the temple. His head held high. Today was the day of his first haircut. Symbolically today was the day he became a real man and a real priest. He was already ascending high through the ranks. His father ーif you could call him thatー had gotten him into scribe school with the other high-ranking boys. Kher-heb had even pushed him to pursue his interests in architecture and healing. He had a natural aptitude for both.

The other boys in training for the priesthood had sneered at him throughout his youth, mocking the fact that his father was an old, bent out of shape man, who they all secretly resented, for he was a hard-task maker. None knew that he was a foundling. Kher-heb had kept that a secret, simply stating that he was a long-lost son that he hadn't known about. But it seemed that the other priests had suspicions, for they had always looked at him from the corner of their eyes as if assessing that there was a traitor in their midst.

At fifteen, Imhotep was already full of self-confidence. He was unsure how much of it was real, but he always held his head high and did his duty to the great Lord Osiris. When he had first been initiated into the temple, Imhotep had been picked to worship Ra, the God of the Sun, for even as a child, he seemed destined for greatness. However, it soon became apparent that the young boy was besotted with Osiris. He was often found praying at the God's feet, leaving offerings when he thought no one was looking, and there was a darkness to him that seemed more suited for worshipping the Lord of Death.

It was still early morning when he finally descended the steps of the great temple, feeling the cool grains of sand on his bare feet. Imhotep looked at the pink sky as Ra made his great journey over the sky, bringing the sun, the bringer of life, into another day in the Nile Valley. He watched as a group of birds flew over the slow-flowing waters of the Nile, the palm trees appearing as silhouettes on the steadily rising horizon. Rubbing his arms to ward off some of the early morning chill, he tried to calm himself. Imhotep was exceedingly nervous; his usual mask of self-confidence was slipping. He seldom left the temple's sanctuary, preferring to study in the shade of the sacred gardens at all hours of the day. Today he was to go to the palace. He had been there quite a few times, and each time he felt as if all eyes were on him.

Kher-heb walked beside him today, a stern look on his wrinkled face. The man was not yet fifty-five, but the pain of losing his wife and child had put years onto his visage. Imhotep knew this, for he knew the real Kher-heb, a strong, resilient man, who had the heart of a saint, and the depth of love to match it. Kher-hebs face was an inscrutable mask of concentration as he limped beside him. The other young boys had left early to go to the palace. They had all sprang from their beds on the floor, excitement shining on their youthful faces. Imhotep had been more cautious, he too was excited, but he felt more nervous than anything else. Not that he'd tell them that.

"You should be proud of yourself today, Imhotep," Kher-heb said beside him, his voice a bit gruff as he maneuvered his cane across the rocky path. "This is a great honor to become a man, especially done today by our new Pharaoh."

If he had to wager a guess, the new Pharaoh was a young boy around his age, sixteen or seventeen. His father Ramses I had died suddenly, leaving the throne to his inexperienced son.

"Sure it is…but I am nervous," Imhotep responded, his mask of self-confidence slipping once again, he knew he did not have to hide his feelings from his father, but he felt embarrassed. His breath came out as mist in the chilly morning air as he walked next to Kher-heb.

"Why? You have made the right of passage. For today you become a man! And a true priest. You are already very advanced, my boy. There is nothing new to worry about, just a new title."

Imhotep chewed his lip. "It's just that…sometimes I worry that I am not worthy of this. I wasn't born into nobility…" he trailed off, his eyes on the ground as they wound their way up the steep rocky path that led to the palace. The incline was sharp and jagged; he worried about Kher-heb making the trek. A cane suddenly blocked his foot's journey.

"Don't you ever say that! You were born for greatness! After all, you are my son. That's all there is to say about it." Kher-heb said, his eyes flashing briefly with temper, the cane still blocking Imhotep's path. "You are my son." He said again, his eyes hardening. He looked at Imhotep sternly.

Imhotep looked away, embarrassed that he had so freely shown his emotions. "You're right," he sighed, "Thank you…father." Finally, Kher-heb allowed them to walk again, his eyes still trained on Imhotep's. But Imhotep's eyes were still trained on the ground, avoiding eye contact. Finally, he looked up and saw that they were all but at the steps of the palace. The priests in the Temple had a secret winding path that civilians did not know of. It allowed a direct route to the palace so that the pharaoh could come for worship and guidance.

Imhotep saw the palace guards and squared his shoulders, his eyes straight ahead, all traces of nervousness gone from his face. Only a trained eye would be able to see the fear in his eyes. He swallowed hard as he began to ascend the steps. Once they reached the top, Kher-heb was breathing harshly, leaning harder on his cane for support.

"Let's take a rest for a minute," Imhotep suggested, worry coloring his tone, his mask of false prestige slipping for a moment in front of the guards who eyed them with slight annoyance. Kher-heb waved him off as he coughed lightly, trying to catch his breath in the harsh morning air. The chill had begun to wear off as the desert air began to warm up, bringing with it a feeling of aridity.

"No, I am fine," Kher-heb said again, another slight cough emitting from him. He straightened up, slowly and stiffly leading the way into the vast palace entrance.

The palace itself was glorious. Colored tiles decorated the floors, each with a painted scene depicting the greatness of the pharaohs. Columns stood on all sides of the cavernous entrance, bright hieroglyphs adorning them. Palm trees in pots led to a grand staircase leading to the golden doors ahead. More stairs, Imhotep thought, oh no. He did not risk offending his mentor but took his time. The Pharaoh could wait.

Finally, they reached the golden doors, and Imhotep swung them open, swallowing back his fear. The room he entered was full of people, all high officials. They all turned to look at them as they entered, haughty looks upon most of their dull faces. Imhotep swallowed harshly. Directly up ahead sat a fresh-faced boy with the crown of upper and lower Egypt on his head. The false beard looked funny on the boy's face, too big and heavy for a boy as slight as he. The other boys with whom he shared a dormitory had already been anointed by the high priest and sat, snickering as he and his aging father entered the hall.

"You have finally come at last," the Pharaoh spoke, trying to seem authoritative. Still, Imhotep could hear a slight tremor in his voice. "We've been waiting long enough."

Imhotep raised his chin, a look of haughty indifference settling on his features, though he too was nervous. He made eye contact with the young ruler, challenging him, but he nonetheless walked towards the other boy, bowing at his feet in reverence.

"Yes, Imhotep, priest of the Temple of Osiris." He stated simply. His hazel eyes were proud.

"You are not a priest yet," Seti stated. "Nonetheless, come forth."

Imhotep stepped closer to the Pharaoh, seeing now for the first time that the young boy seemed to be on the verge of tears. He's just as nervous as I am, he thought. He felt a flash of pity go through him.

The high priest of the Temple of Osiris stepped forward, anointing Imhotep's forehead with the sacred oils of Frankincense and Myrrh and burning incense of Kyphri and Lotus around his body. The high priest stepped back, and his kindly eyes crinkled in a sort of smile but said nothing as he nodded for Imhotep to stand with the other boys in line.

As he stood there, nervousness permeated his being as he watched the boys he grew up with step forward and have their heads fully shaved in front of the entirety of the noble population, finally cementing them as full-fledged men. When it was finally his turn, he was all but hyperventilating with fear but burning with excitement at the same time. As the knife came close to his skull, he felt his ponytail be lopped off. The weightlessness of his head seemed foreign and deliciously freeing all at once. He reached up to touch his skull, smooth and oiled from the anointment he had received earlier.

He was all but vibrating with joy as he went to kneel next to his brothers. The Pharaoh was talking, but he did not hear any words spoken. He was a man now! A real priest! He sent up a quick prayer of thankfulness to Ra and his patron God, Osiris.

He didn't remember much else of the night, as there was a feast held in honor of the newest members of the Temple. Beer and wine were passed around without abandon. Meats of the highest quality found their way to his plate. He had never tasted meat before in his life, as most young boys in the temple were fed a plant-based diet. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Pomegranates, figs, dates, and many other fruits were passed around. The Pharaoh seemed to lighten up throughout the night, becoming more relaxed in his new role; he even smiled and laughed multiple times, which did wonders for Imhotep's nerves. He had worried about this new Pharaoh since he had taken the throne. Maybe there was hope for Egypt after all.

The Pharaoh flashed him a smile just then, making eye contact with Imhotep. Imhotep stared back blankly for a moment until he felt a soft smile of his own curve his lips. He felt a tingle in the air as if something momentous was happening, he shivered, and the moment was gone. Seti looked away, excitedly making conversation with those of his court, drunk on the fruits and the high-quality beer around him.

As the memories swirled around Imhotep, he felt like a stranger in his own life. He knew that these memories were somehow his, but they didn't feel tangible, real. They felt painful and raw, all but ripping him to shreds in their simplicity. There was nothing truly spectacular about his life, the things he had done and seen. They were but a flash in the pan.

But the thoughts of Kher-heb struck Imhotep. The priest had been the first to take him in as his own son, and Imhotep had led him to his demise. This is how I thank him? The thought felt twisted as he struggled to form coherent thoughts. The look of utter disbelief, and finally resignation on Kher-hebs's face as he realized his loyalty to Imhotep had led him towards his ultimate end, was all that Imhotep could replay in his mind. The old man, his face wrinkled and sagged, his body no longer lithe with the strength of youth ーhad still pulled Imhotep to safety. He had stuck by him as Imhotep performed the forbidden ritual from the Black Book of the Dead. His lips had even formed the words "I forgive you" as he was shackled to the place where he would be mummified alive. Imhotep screamed and writhed as the defeated eyes of his father bore into his own in his mind. They haunted him. He forgave me? When I so utterly betrayed him?

Agonizingly, another face haunted him still, but it was not of his mentor, nor even of the beautiful girl, whose name still seemed to elude him at times in his own personal hell, but of another. There was another face that was proud, arrogant, and egotistical. Seti. That burning anger bubbled up inside of Imhotep's chest once more, and he screamed a primal scream of rage. The demons seemed to shrink back from him at that, nervous, wringing their hands together, waiting to see what he would do next. Imhotep seethed. His body felt as if it was no longer on fire but almost truly alive.

The new part of him, the Hom-Dai, struggled to break free from the confines of Imhotep's mind, wanting maximum power. But a small voice in the back of his mind seemed to whisper, But you used to be such good friends. The part of Imhotep that was still in control fought to stay sane. The human part of him felt the pain of betrayal in his heart once more, and the feeling of guilt settled over him. The rage in his heart fizzled out, one cell at a time, making him feel drained of energy and utterly lifeless once more. At that, the demons seemed to sense a change in him, for they went back to their relentless torture, taking glee in seeing him lose his power. Imhotep hung his head, suspended in his fiery pit of torment. It was hopeless. The memories came yet again.