WARNING: I freely admit this is a work in progress. Yada yada yada (for translation of yadas, see chapters 1 and 2). Flames will be doused with buckets of snow that fell outside my Dallas, Texas, apartment (I saved some in the freezer), but constructive critique will be much appreciated. Okay. On with the story!
APOLOGIES: Please forgive any errors I might make in either customs or language. I confess to a lazy streak that permits me to borrow phrases and customs from other writers. I mean no harm. Truly, I don't.
THE WINGS OF HORUS
By Meercat
Chapter 4
However often necessity forced him to shelter inside solid walls, Ardeth Bey would never accustom himself to the absence of stars, wind, and space. In the desert a man could breathe deep of jasmine and hyacinth, of spices and hot earth. He could feel the sting of blistering sand beneath his feet and the night-chilled fingers of wind in his hair.
As he lay in the large guest bed in the O'Connell's residence, Ardeth stared through the gauzy netting, toward the open window and its view of the fading stars. A dim, rosy glow bathed the east, heralding the coming dawn.
Even after four days on alert and so hectic a night, he found little desire for sleep. His mind and body, still primed for battle, refused to rest. Casting off any attempt at sleep, Ardeth sat up, reached beneath the unused pillows, and drew out the battered drawstring bag. With reverent hands, he slid its contents onto the duvet between his knees.
The statue pulsed and glittered in the rising light of the new day. Each minute facet of the delicately carved feathers, furled forward as though cradling something previous, glistened and sparked with multicolored lights. The amber eyes caught and held him in their grip. The proud tilt of the falcon's head brought forth bittersweet reminders of his own lost friend. His own Horus had held his head just so, with a slightly arrogant and prideful arch, as though delighting in his grace and beauty. The slender, deadly talons gripped a crystal branch, their points biting deep.
Ardeth stroked the crystal breast feathers, surprised to find them not cold as stone but throbbing with warmth as that of a living bird. He shivered and set the statue back on the duvet. After a last, long look, he slid it back within the confines of the bag, sealed it once more, and returned it to its hiding place beneath the pillows.
A second probe found the hilt of the sheathed knife he kept beneath his pillow. Reassured as to the safety of both himself and his possession, the Medjai allowed his mind and body to soften into sleep.
*Awaken, son of the desert, blood of my blood.*
Ardeth blinked against the brilliance of the sky. Sitting up, he saw not the rich, creamy linens and white-painted walls of the O'Connell's Cairo home but simple, hand spun blankets and pillows of his desert home. No tent blocked his view of the midday sky--a brilliant expanse void of either cloud or sun disk.
*Awaken, son of the desert, and attend my words.*
Ardeth snatched up his sword and rolled to his feet, aware of but unconcerned with his own nakedness. Thigh muscles bunched, ready to move in any direction. Sculpted muscles along his back, arms, buttocks, and chest, honed to a fine definition by years of constant training, rippled beneath bronze skin. Warrior tattoos across his chest and arms leaped with every minute shift in movement.
Coverings and pillows, no longer needed, melted into the grassy knoll upon which he had lain.
Around him in all directions stretched a heavenly oasis as far as the eye could see. Fig and date trees groaned with the weight of their produce. Clusters of grapes hung heavy off their vines. Honeysuckle pollen cast a golden, heady fog into the air. The intoxicating aroma of jasmine and water lilies teased his senses. A hundred species of birds drank from the large, deep pool at the oasis' center.
*You wake with a warrior's spirit. This is good. You will need such strength of soul in the days ahead.*
A fluting, joyous cry drew Ardeth's gaze skyward. A silver streak plummeted from the golden, sunless sky. By habit alone did the Medjai raise his arm to accept the weight of the falcon. The bird chattered and clicked as it danced along his forearm, its joy obvious to one who knows its language.
Ardeth dropped his sword. He stroked the breast feathers with the back of his fingers and whispered, "Horus, my old friend. Is it really you?"
*Well does he recall you, son of the desert. Nor is he shy to boast of bearing so exalted a name. He speaks often of your love of him and of his kind. This pleases me.*
Ardeth searched for the source of the voice but could not find it.
*What do you seek, son of the desert?*
"Who speaks? What is this place? Is it real or an illusion? How did I come to be here?"
*So many questions, yet all with one answer. This place is where I am and you came here because I willed it so. Thus, all answers return to me.*
"And you are-"
Laughter, like the fluting calls of a thousand falcons, rang throughout the oasis. Palm fronds fell to the ground. Flower pedals quivered on their stalks. Birds took flight and ripples danced across the water.
*You stand before me as naked as the day your mother thrust you wet and bloody from her womb. You stand before me with only your warrior's markings and honor to shield your innermost self from me. Arrogance suits you, son of the desert. You are Medjai indeed and worthy of the trials that lie before you. Very well. By recovering my wings and vowing to return them to their rightful place, you have earned the right to certain answers. Look upon me, Medjai, and know me.*
Ardeth's gaze fell upon one bird in particular high in a fig tree, the largest falcon he had ever seen. It stared down upon him with an all-knowing gaze. With a regal sweep of its wings, it settled toward the earth. Its form twisted and swirled, first bird then man then portions of both, until at last the final form stood before him--Horus, the falcon-head god of ancient Egypt.
With his pet falcon still on his arm, Ardeth sank to his knees and bowed his head. His heart quivered with fear even as another part of his spirit reveled in the presence of the being.
*You know me.*
"Horus. Son of Isis and Osiris. Husband to Hathor. The Falcon."
*I am all those things and a thousand more. You recovered my wings. For this alone will you be blessed. Yet there is still more you must do. Take the statue and return it to its place within the shrine of Ebet. Return it to the temple and seal the entrance behind you. Only then will your task be complete.*
"The temple will be the first place thieves will go to regain possession of the statue."
*This is where my wings must go. Take it there, Medjai.*
Ardeth stiffened his shoulders and dared stare the deity directly in the eye. "As you will."
Piercing falcon eyes pinned the Medjai chieftain in place. *This one piece of advice will I give you. Do not go alone. Only by the a brother's strength will you succeed.*
"I understand."
Horus stretched forth his hand and waved it before Ardeth's face. A wave of weariness overcame the warrior, who sank down onto cushions once more in place beneath his feet.
*Sleep, son of the desert. When you awaken, the true journey will begin.*
TBC