CHAPTER FOUR

Hands of Fate

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

Terms to know:

Bes: God of fertility, motherhood, child-birth, music, merriment.

Sekhmet: Goddess of chaos, war, healing, and medicine.

"Seek to perform your duties to your highest ability, this way, your actions will be blameless."
-Muata Ashby, Ancient Egyptian Proverbs

Thebes, 1304BCE

Imhotep frowned in confusion. The papyrus he held in his hands didn't make sense. He turned it over multiple times to understand the ancient words written upon its many layers. It was obviously a spell of some kind, but whatever it was for, its meaning had been long lost to time. He ran his hands over his bald head in frustration. How am I ever going to translate this?! Imhotep thought in frustration. The papyrus was a dusty, heavy scroll hidden in one of the many crevices in the temple. He knew that these walls held more secrets than answers, but still, the Gods needn't make everything so mysterious all the time. He had been trying in vain for hours to decipher what any of the words meant, but they seemed to predate even the beginning of the empire.

Sitting back on his heels, he closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. A headache had set in between his temples, making thinking difficult. Maybe meditation will help, he thought. Imhotep took a few calming breaths and felt his whole body relax as he ascended the barrier between worldly life and the godly domain. His mind felt crisp as he allowed himself to clear it. Suddenly, there was a clearing of a throat behind him. Coming down off of his cloud, Imhotep groaned internally, feeling the headache creep back in, along with pangs of hunger. He turned around slightly and saw a small palace messenger meekly peering around the corner to his sanctuary.

"Yes, what is it?" Imhotep said, turning around fully to face the messenger. He was still seated on his heels, but he conveyed authority and prestige.

"Umm…my Lord, the Pharaoh has requested your presence at the palace at once." The messenger said nervously, balancing from foot to fancy foot. Imhotep took in the man before him. He was dressed in a fine linen robe lined with golden thread and wore sandals of the highest craftsmanship. Around his age, the small man could not have been more than twenty-one. He wore the heavy kohl makeup expected of the elite, and Imhotep internally scoffed. He himself only wore the eye makeup if absolutely necessary. Being a priest meant he had to bathe four times a day, and he did not have the patience to sit and put on eye makeup multiple times.

Curiously raising his eyebrows, he replied, "What is he calling upon me for? I have not spoken with Seti in quite some time."

"This is to be in the utmost confidence…." the messenger said nervously, "But the pharaoh's high wife has fallen ill during her pregnancy, and Seti has heard that you are a healer."

Imhotep was taken aback. He was a healer, yes, but not a particularly prolific one. "And why has he asked for me specifically? Surely the palace has their own healers."

"They have all failed, my Lord…" the messenger said, wringing his hands, "The queen is very, very ill."

Imhotep looked at the man's hands, transfixed by the motion. The wheels in his head were turning. He had barely had any run-in with the Pharaoh except for feasts thrown at the palace here and there and the customary duties required of priests, such as rites and rituals for the pharaohs many sons. In fact, he had barely had any contact with the Pharaoh save for his initiation into the temple six years prior.

"What about the High Priest of the Temple of Thoth? Have you inquired if he is available?" Imhotep asked, genuinely perplexed as to why they would want him, a regular priest.

"The Pharaoh has already tried everyone at his disposal. You are his last hope," the little man said, his braided wig slipping on his head from the high humidity inside of the temple. He pushed it back upon his head, waiting fastidiously for Imhotep's reply.

"Very well, I will be there in a minute," Imhotep said, indicating that the man could leave. He stood up slowly, feeling his legs cramp from sitting for so long. The messenger still stood in the doorway, looking hesitant, but he nonetheless scurried away when he saw Imhotep's look of vexation.

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes once more, gathering his thoughts and clearing them from his mind. He stood there, eyes closed for a few moments, taking deep breaths. He felt nervous all over again, but he didn't know why. He had healed many people before, but never anyone from the palace. The Temple of Osiris would always take in any sick or ailing farmer, child, or expectant mother. Imhotep had had plenty of practice with the beauty and misery of childbirth. Opening his eyes to the brightly lit room, he moved to put away the scroll he had been scrutinizing before, he didn't know what secrets it held, but he wanted to be the one who found them.

He walked behind his makeshift study area and pulled up the old, dusty carpet on the floor, revealing a broken tile. The once colorful tile was now faded with time, almost the color of the sand in the desert. Underneath the shards of tile was a hole where Imhotep kept many secret things, and he stashed the scroll there, covering it back up with the bits of tile and carpet, hurrying out the room in a flash of robes.

Apprehensively, Imhotep entered the palace. He was always struck by the grandiosity of the building each time he entered. The potted palms he had seen years ago now reached upwards towards the ceiling, almost like they were reaching up towards the heavens. Golden light shone through the windows, making the brightly colored and golden paintings on the wall sparkle with life. New statues of Seti's likeness stood on either side of the throne room where Seti would most likely be. The figures reached up even higher than the palms, conveying that Seti was a God amongst men.

Imhotep rolled his eyes. His father had always taught him that the true Gods of the earth were the ones who treated others with genuine empathy, not the men born into power whose egos were so inflated they felt they could do as they pleased. Imhotep knew that Seti was known for having a quick temper and an even faster hand, which he would not hesitate to strike others with. The Pharaoh now had upwards of six or seven wives and multiple concubines and harems at his disposal. Imhotep was not a liability to make judgments of the man, but he did not particularly agree with the Pharaoh's life of excess.

It was dim at this time of day, it was nearing late evening, and the torches on the walls had not yet been lit as he gently pushed open the doors to the throne room. He padded into the decadently plush room. Two guards stood on either side of Setis's wooden throne. The room itself was alive with the sounds of sultry music, played by the royal musicians, who sat tucked into an alcove on the far side of the room. Dancing girls, women of Seti's harem, danced salaciously around the grand room, twisting and contorting their bodies into shapes of desire and pleasure. They wore gauzy clothing that did little to hide their figures and were adorned in glittering jewels and golden wigs. The Pharaoh himself sat on his wooden throne, smiling lasciviously and not looking too terribly worried about his sick wife upstairs.

Seti finally noticed him and straightened up in his seat, waving a hand to come forward. He still had a look of distracted desire in his eyes when Imhotep approached and bowed at his feet.

"Imhotep, my old friend, you have come to help your great Pharaoh in his time of need. How gracious of you." Seti addressed him. The dancing girls continued their twirling acrobatics behind them, making him feel disoriented. Imhotep's headache began to pound in his temples once again.

Imhotep slowly stood up and made eye contact with the man before him, and he had that same funny feeling he had felt years ago, deep in his gut, when he looked into Setis's dark eyes. He shook his head slightly to clear the feeling and cleared his throat.

"Yes, it is I, Imhotep, priest of the Temple of Osiris at your disposal." He said, bowing his head in loyalty once again. He felt strange being here, like the hands of fate were somehow playing with the strings of his life. The feeling in his gut did not dissipate.

Seti smiled at the act of piety bestowed before him, but the look quickly left his face and was replaced with a look of the utmost seriousness. The desire too left his eyes. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead suddenly, as if he too were ill. "I called you here today because my wife has been gravely ill for quite some time now. She is with child. I would not have called on a priest like yourself if I had other options."

Imhotep had no idea which wife Seti spoke of since he seemed to change his mind about which wife was his favorite each year. It was as if Seti read his mind because he continued.

"My wife Tua-re has been unable to eat for days, and she does nothing but sleep. She refuses to drink and cannot hold anything down. She also appears to have a fever." The Pharaoh raised a shaky hand to his forehead to wipe off some of his own sweat that had beaded there and continued, "My Medjai here, Amenhemti, will take you to her."

A darker-skinned man stepped out of the shadows, a look of pride deep within his eyes to be the chosen one. Muscular and about six-foot-five, the towering young man looked at Imhotep and nodded his head in respect. The man's face was covered in tattoos that denoted that he was of a secret order sworn to protect the Pharaoh and his family. He stood back in place, eyes straight ahead, waiting for further orders.

Imhotep bowed and turned to look into Setis's eyes once more, "I will do all that I can. I will not fail you." The Pharaoh nodded in thanks and waved his hand at Amenhemti to lead him away, placing his head in his hands. The music swirled throughout the room, and Imhotep was quickly led away.

He was shaking with nerves, but he kept calm and allowed himself to be steered down numerous hallways and up many flights of stairs into the Queen's lavish chamber.

Entering the room, there was a stench of sickness. The Queen lay on a decadent bed of silks and linen stained with sweat and what appeared to be specks of blood. He approached the Queen slowly, ignoring the Medjai breathing down his neck, and he began to look over the Queen.

"My Lady, can you hear me?" Imhotep implored softly. There was no answer.

His eyes ran over the Queen, making quick calculations of where to start. Her skin was sallow, yellow, and covered in a sheen of sweat; her breath came out in sharp gasps of pain. The most troubling thing of all was that her pregnant stomach seemed to be turning purple. Imhotep's blood ran cold.

"Medjai, I need your assistance!" Imhotep said in a commanding whisper.

Amenhemti looked terrified. "My Lord, I do not think I can be of any assistance," his eyes darted around the room, wide with anxiety.

"Fetch me clean rags then!" Imhotep said. Amenhemti all but bolted from the room, looking green.

With the Medjai now gone and not breathing down his neck, Imhotep quickly set to work, unpacking the small satchel of herbs he had brought with him. This disease plagued many pregnant women in the Temple's care, but he has never seen a case like this.

He made a mental checklist of all the herbs at his disposal: garlic, onion, frankincense resin, thyme, juniper berries, mint, caraway, camphor, cumin, aloe, fennel, cassia, and most importantly, opium and cannabis for pain and honey for infection. He knew that the Queen's sickness stemmed from the bite of a bug that was all over the banks of the Nile River. She most likely had gotten bitten while on a walk along the banks. Imhotep knew that it was very likely that the baby would die if it hadn't already been infected; he had seen it happen too many times.

Quickly he got out his pedestal and mortar and began to mix a tincture of herbs, mixing in some opium as he went, to help with the pain. He dried off the Queen's forehead. She was moaning now, eyes still closed, and he promptly opened her mouth and gave her the medicine. He wasn't sure if it would work.

"Please, Gods, send me your strength," he whispered under his breath.

Then he set about his most crucial task: saying incantations to help the medicine work and to help her soul to fight the disease. He had forgotten to don his appropriate attire, but nonetheless, he cleaned her forehead with moon water he kept in his satchel and began to recite the words handed down from priest to priest.

Taking a deep breath, he channeled the powers of the Gods, and he felt them there with him. Their fingertips became his own, his own beating heart now beat to the drum of the Gods whim, and he began to chant:

O Sekhmet, Goddess of Healing,
Use your ferocity and
Guide us towards salvation,
May our prayers be heard
May the sickness leave thy body
May thee be strong
Health comes to thee,

O Bes, Protector of Mothers
Keep thee in your arms
For Safe Keeping
Allow the child of the sovereign king
To be birthed into the world
Protect her, almighty one.
We thank you.
We venerate you.
And so it is.

As the words were spoken, a mysterious light seemed to emanate out of Imhotep's fingertips, and as he ran them over the Queen, the light seemed to spread throughout her body and into her womb, lighting it as if it was the birth of the sun.

When he was done, he opened his eyes, shaking from the exertion of his power being sent out into the universe, and he took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes to restore his own equilibrium.

Opening his eyes after a few moments, he saw that the Queen seemed to be more at ease now. Her breathing seemed to be deep and even, and she was no longer moaning in pain. There was not much he could do now but wait. Usually, this tincture took a few hours to work, but with the power of the Gods at his fingertips, maybe even less time.

Seeing a footstool in the corner of her room, Imhotep stood from where he had been kneeling next to the Queen and walked to the far side of the room to retrieve it. I might as well stay here for a few hours to keep an eye on her. Maybe I can get some sleep too.

With his back turned, he suddenly heard a harsh gasp from behind him, and he spun around. The Queen now sat straight up, her eyes wild with pain, her mouth open in a silent scream, her hair a mass of wild mane around her head. Around her thighs, a growing wetness soaked through the already damp sheet. Oh, Gods, he thought in a panic, I've never done a birth entirely alone before. He looked up to the ceiling, to the heavens, Please help me, Osiris!

The Queen made wild eye contact with him, her eyes conveying that she was in excruciating pain, begging him for help. She tried to talk, but her throat was too achy from the fever. Imhotep immediately grabbed his satchel and started looking for Blue Lotus Flower. Holding the powder, he tried to remain calm.

"My Queen, Imhotep, priest of the Temple of Osiris, I am here to help you," Imhotep said, bowing quickly and then walking towards her.

Her wild eyes searched his before she dryly answered, "Please call me Tua-re. Thank you...Imhotep," she croaked out before she lay back quickly and began to whimper in pain.

"Here, this should help. It will ease the contractions," Imhotep said, handing her the vile of Blue Lotus powder that he had mixed with the moon water in his bag. Bringing it up to her lips, he helped her take a drink.

I have no idea what I am doing, Osiris. Please help me!

A few minutes went past, and the Queen continued to lay down, again at ease, occasionally wincing in pain but no longer whimpering.

Imhotep waited, now sitting on the footstool he had initially grabbed. He knew that birth was always a tricky process. Many women in the kingdom died each day, bringing new life into the world. He did not want to fail Tua-re or Seti.

A few hours passed now before the Queen sat up and began to scream in pain, startling Imhotep out of his state of half-asleep and half-awake.

He looked at the Queen in a panic, "My Lady, I need to look under the blankets. Do I have your permission?"

Tua-re nodded quickly, sweat pouring from her face as she wailed again. Imhotep lifted the sheet and saw that she had already crowned. The baby was on its way.

Hours later, a screaming baby girl was brought into the world, making her presence known. Imhotep cleaned up the babe and handed her to her mother before administering some more herbs to help with the post-birth pain and complications of her illness.

Tua-re was soaked in sweat as she lay on the pillows, holding her tiny bundle of joy to her chest, but she managed a weak smile in his direction. There was a new light in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"Thank you, Imhotep, truly. You are a friend to the Queen and Pharaoh for life."

Imhotep was taken aback. He had only done his duty; he had not expected such a warm reception, especially from royalty.

"Thank you, my Lady, it has been my honor," Imhotep said, almost shyly. "Make sure that you take those herbs there every six hours." He felt nervous again, unsure of himself receiving praise from such a high source, so he fell back into the role of practitioner instead.

"Imhotep, call me Tua-re, please." She said, still smiling weakly from her bed. "I will take your herbs, do not worry. I already feel like a new woman!" She said, nuzzling her baby against her chest. "And this pretty little lady needs a name, doesn't she?"

Imhotep nodded his agreement.

"I think I shall call her Nefertiri."