Disclaimer:
Sadly, I do not own any of the characters in this story except the ones you've never heard of. Which is quite unfortunate really, as if I owned the ones you had heard of, I would probably be quite wealthy and could sit on some beach all day writing this kind of thing. Which, come to think of it, from your perspective is probably something of a relief.
Undoubtedly some small liberty taking with history, ancient mythology, the bible (yes I know some people would regard that as the same thing), and with a take on some characters history that may clash a little with the novels but not (I hope) with the movies. Apologies to those any of that might annoy. But then this is only a story.
__________________________________________________________________________
Beginning our journey back and forth through time, hopefully you won't get nauseous during the ride.
___________________________________________________________________________
The Mummy's Shadow
Chapter Two
'Little Bird'
The Temple City of Abydos, Egypt, 1296 B.C
The child pushed through the crowd, head raised, straining to see the faces of the adults that towered above her, seeking out the familiar features of her beloved father. Her small dark chin clenched tight, determined not to let her traitorous lower lip start trembling and tears come to her eyes, while she staved off the rising panic at the knowledge that she was now, well and truly lost in this massive crowd.
Her mother having only recently died, Nephet, her father, had come here to the city of Abydos, on business, his only child by his side. Knowing his daughter's love of spectacle, he had deliberately scheduled his business in this great city to coincide with the Festival of Osiris, where the statue of the great God was paraded through the city streets to the general rejoicing of both the city population and the vast number of assembled pilgrims. From near and far in Egypt and it's vassal states they came to watch the mystery play, where the death and resurrection of Osiris was re-enacted, in the forecourt of the great temple.
They had dressed in their finest linen, and joined the other pilgrims as they flocked to take their place in the sea of white robed people clamouring to see the sight of thousands of priests, carrying the figure of the God of the underworld, released for one day from it's confines in the temple to parade through the garland decked city streets.
Propped up on her father's shoulder she had marvelled at the lavishness of the procession, the serenity and piety of the priests, the regalia of the King's emissaries, and the sheer scale of the crowd. Watched intently while, before the sacred statue, the we'ebs, the lowest of the priests, carried incense and offerings of all kinds, animal, vegetable and mineral, given to them by the people of the city and the pilgrims, leading the statue in the ceremonial parade to one of the largest temples in Egypt.
There, in the forecourt, the statue was to be restored to the inner sanctum, the holy of holies, and the sacred prayers and formulas observed by the massed priesthood, representing all the Gods would begin. The crowd would watch the mystery play, before dispersing to riotous celebration and feasting.
After the procession had passed, and the prayer ceremony in the Temple had begun, her father, had decided to see whether they might be able to get closer so that she might actually be able to see the play itself.
But others too had the same idea, and yet more, were retiring from the scene altogether, going to their homes or to join others in early celebration of the day. As her father pushed his way through the jostling comings and goings of the crowd, a sudden surge broke his grip on her hand, and she lost sight of him. Crushed and pushed, she was spun around, till all she could see was a sea of white.
With everyone dressed the same, from the level of her perspective, and without his hand or face to guide her, she couldn't tell her father from anyone else. She had called out to him, but unknown faces had peered down at her, and spoke to her in strange dialects, impairing her attempts to reach her father's ears, or for his voice to reach hers.
Impatiently, she had pulled away from these strange talking countrymen and women of hers and started to shove her way past the legs of these people. Head up, trying to see him. Continuously calling out to him. But succeeding in attracting only the attention of strangers.
A proud girl, with a streak of self-sufficiency and confidence inherited from her mother she scorned their offers of aid, and pushed on alone. But even in the most mature of 10 year olds, the fear eventually starts to undermine the bravado, and she could feel the lump in her throat growing with every step.
She stopped, and still being bumped and jostled, stood there, trying to focus her worried thoughts. She was just wandering aimlessly and that wasn't going to get her anywhere. This wasn't Giza, home. If she was lost there, she could at least find some familiar landmark and make her way to their house. But this was a strange city and she had no idea how to find her way to their lodgings from here.
There was only one option open to her. Looking up again, she peered not at the faces but beyond them, seeking for a glimpse of the Great Temple. Once she caught sight of it, far off to her left, she decided to make her way towards the vast building, as that had been the place she knew for sure her father had been heading.
For what seemed like an age, she soldiered on, using the agility and litheness inherited from her talented mother, dancing through brief openings, darting through spaces. Where those talents couldn't help her, she proceeded by squeezing through tiny gaps between people and where there were none, strategically pinching people or standing on their toes in order to create the space she needed to get by when they jumped and moved in pain. A quick flash of a sweet and innocent smile got her out of trouble, when pained faces would angrily turn to question who had injured them.
Finally, she could hear the chanting and counter chanting of the priests and see, over the heads of the thin line of people left in front of her, the tall colonnaded temple looming over her. Making a last effort to push to the very front, this time she accidentally stood on the toes of a large man as she tried to squeeze past him. With a roar of pain, emanating from above her, she felt the push of a large hand, as he shoved her away from him, and she flew forward, out of the crowd, landing heavily on her knees, her face smashing into the thigh of a priest.
Shockingly disturbed from his reverent prayer, the bald headed man in white, turned a furious face towards her and let out a shout of anger at such blasphemy. Dragging herself to her feet, she felt her face go ashen in fear at having triggered the anger of such a revered man. Visions of eternal damnation entered her head, her soul being cast into the belly of the beast, never to be reborn.
All courage and composure left her and she fled. But in her blind panic, ran the wrong way.
Without thinking she charged not back towards the crowd behind her, but right into the crowd of priests lined up in front of the temple beyond her, and instead of removing herself from the vicinity of pious wrath, she threw herself right into a bubbling cauldron of it.
The song and counter song of the religious continued, but was joined in a third discordant counterpoint by the contingent of angry men's voices which filled the air. Hands tried to grab hold of her as she blindly bumped and span around, trying to find her way out as soon as she realised what she had done. She could feel the tears of panic and fear streaming down her cheeks, even though she couldn't remember actually starting to cry.
A hand grabbed hold of her long black hair, and she was yanked backwards, her head pulled back to see the livid face of a heavy set, silver body painted, older priest.
"Impudent child!" he snarled, his hand tightening its hold on her hair, causing her to cry out in pain as it pulled on her scalp.
"Stop!" another voice called out. A voice different from the others, softer, lighter. Feminine.
Heads turned, voices quietened, as the group of 20 or so priests caught up in the turmoil turned in the direction of the commanding voice. Head still pulled back, movement restricted, the child moved her eyes towards the sound.
Surrounded by bald men, who cleared a path for her quickly and reverently, the long black haired woman with ebony eyes, dressed in a white streaked gold threaded linen sheath which tied beneath her breasts, with an ornate gold circlet on her head and gold armlets running the length of her forearms, strode towards them almost imperiously.
As she walked, she snapped at the silver we'eb who held the child firm. "Release her!" His grip loosened and retracted immediately.
Freed, the child looked about as if to run, before her curiosity got the better of her, and she stayed to watch this woman's continuing approach. The child could see that she carried in one hand a golden sistrum, the instrument used in priestly displays, and about her person, on the armlets, necklace and circlet she wore, were the symbols of a religious.
The symbols of Isis.
She was a priestess, and from the way the men around her reacted, she seemed to outrank them. From their facial expressions, she was at least, 'A servant of the god'. That thought alone gave her pause. In her young experience, men did not obey women, except for servants and slaves. The way the men parted in front of her was almost miraculous to watch.
The woman reached her and looked down, a speculative look on her face that almost looked like a smile.
"Are you well, Anck-sa-namun?" the woman asked, and on hearing her name from this woman's mouth, the little girl's mouth dropped open.
"Answer!" the heavy set priest snarled, trying to get into the good graces of this senior ranking priestess of his sect, a woman that he had certainly not expected to see. He was met by a glare of such distaste from the priestess that he almost flinched under it.
"You will be silent." She said levelly, but her voice dripped with malevolence "He who does not value a child does not truly serve Isis, or the Gods, and should have no voice in this place." She looked around at the others before returning her gaze to the man.
"A child is the essence of the future, and should be carefully moulded by those around them, like clay on a potters wheel. You and your ilk break them with your treatment, and waste their value." She looked back towards Anck-sa-namun, and a soft smile played once again around her mouth, encouraging the child, till the little girl moved towards her seeking her touch, her protection.
The woman stroked Anck-sa-namun's jet black hair almost absently. "This one has great value. More value than you know, and more than you or a thousand of your sort is worth."
Moving down to sit on her haunches, the priestess moved her beautiful and highly decorated face to a level with the little girls. Her ring bedecked hand moved gently to the child's chin and moved her head up and down, as if closely examining the girl's features.
"You command them." Anck-sa-namun murmured, finally plucked up the courage to speak, and pointing at the priests. The priestess smiled.
"I do." She stated before returning to her scrutiny of the girl.
"You are much like your mother." The priestess spoke softly, so softly that only Anck-sa-namun could hear her words, and looked again at the woman in surprise. "You have her spirit and will be a great beauty when you are older. But you will fly higher than she." She nodded approvingly, as if satisfied by the certain knowledge of this.
Then her look grew intense, dark even, and she gripped the child's arms tightly with her hands, pinning them almost painfully to the girl's sides.
"Remember this moment, little bird," she commanded the girl. "Remember me. Know that grasping hands will seek to block your flight. If you wish to fly free seek the highest branch so you may soar. And always remember that the highest branches grow on the mightiest trees."
Anck-sa-namun stared mutely at this beautiful priestess who commanded men, knew her name without the asking of it, and seemed to know her mother. She wanted to ask questions, many questions, but the woman turned her head from her, just as she tried to form the words of the first.
"Go now," the priestess said, rising up from her crouched position with the girl. "Your father comes."
The girl, looked around trying to look where the priestess was looking, and after a moment, there pushing through the crowd was her father. Her relief at his approach was tempered by the desire to stay here and query this woman not only about how she knew her name and of her family but about how she came to be who she was? And, in the way of little girls, how she too could be like her?
After acknowledging her father's cries to her with a wave and a smile, she turned back to start her questions. Only to find the priestess gone, the ranks of priests closing behind her in her wake, returning once more to their lines, resuming their prayers.
__________________________
Sadly, I do not own any of the characters in this story except the ones you've never heard of. Which is quite unfortunate really, as if I owned the ones you had heard of, I would probably be quite wealthy and could sit on some beach all day writing this kind of thing. Which, come to think of it, from your perspective is probably something of a relief.
Undoubtedly some small liberty taking with history, ancient mythology, the bible (yes I know some people would regard that as the same thing), and with a take on some characters history that may clash a little with the novels but not (I hope) with the movies. Apologies to those any of that might annoy. But then this is only a story.
__________________________________________________________________________
Beginning our journey back and forth through time, hopefully you won't get nauseous during the ride.
___________________________________________________________________________
The Mummy's Shadow
Chapter Two
'Little Bird'
The Temple City of Abydos, Egypt, 1296 B.C
The child pushed through the crowd, head raised, straining to see the faces of the adults that towered above her, seeking out the familiar features of her beloved father. Her small dark chin clenched tight, determined not to let her traitorous lower lip start trembling and tears come to her eyes, while she staved off the rising panic at the knowledge that she was now, well and truly lost in this massive crowd.
Her mother having only recently died, Nephet, her father, had come here to the city of Abydos, on business, his only child by his side. Knowing his daughter's love of spectacle, he had deliberately scheduled his business in this great city to coincide with the Festival of Osiris, where the statue of the great God was paraded through the city streets to the general rejoicing of both the city population and the vast number of assembled pilgrims. From near and far in Egypt and it's vassal states they came to watch the mystery play, where the death and resurrection of Osiris was re-enacted, in the forecourt of the great temple.
They had dressed in their finest linen, and joined the other pilgrims as they flocked to take their place in the sea of white robed people clamouring to see the sight of thousands of priests, carrying the figure of the God of the underworld, released for one day from it's confines in the temple to parade through the garland decked city streets.
Propped up on her father's shoulder she had marvelled at the lavishness of the procession, the serenity and piety of the priests, the regalia of the King's emissaries, and the sheer scale of the crowd. Watched intently while, before the sacred statue, the we'ebs, the lowest of the priests, carried incense and offerings of all kinds, animal, vegetable and mineral, given to them by the people of the city and the pilgrims, leading the statue in the ceremonial parade to one of the largest temples in Egypt.
There, in the forecourt, the statue was to be restored to the inner sanctum, the holy of holies, and the sacred prayers and formulas observed by the massed priesthood, representing all the Gods would begin. The crowd would watch the mystery play, before dispersing to riotous celebration and feasting.
After the procession had passed, and the prayer ceremony in the Temple had begun, her father, had decided to see whether they might be able to get closer so that she might actually be able to see the play itself.
But others too had the same idea, and yet more, were retiring from the scene altogether, going to their homes or to join others in early celebration of the day. As her father pushed his way through the jostling comings and goings of the crowd, a sudden surge broke his grip on her hand, and she lost sight of him. Crushed and pushed, she was spun around, till all she could see was a sea of white.
With everyone dressed the same, from the level of her perspective, and without his hand or face to guide her, she couldn't tell her father from anyone else. She had called out to him, but unknown faces had peered down at her, and spoke to her in strange dialects, impairing her attempts to reach her father's ears, or for his voice to reach hers.
Impatiently, she had pulled away from these strange talking countrymen and women of hers and started to shove her way past the legs of these people. Head up, trying to see him. Continuously calling out to him. But succeeding in attracting only the attention of strangers.
A proud girl, with a streak of self-sufficiency and confidence inherited from her mother she scorned their offers of aid, and pushed on alone. But even in the most mature of 10 year olds, the fear eventually starts to undermine the bravado, and she could feel the lump in her throat growing with every step.
She stopped, and still being bumped and jostled, stood there, trying to focus her worried thoughts. She was just wandering aimlessly and that wasn't going to get her anywhere. This wasn't Giza, home. If she was lost there, she could at least find some familiar landmark and make her way to their house. But this was a strange city and she had no idea how to find her way to their lodgings from here.
There was only one option open to her. Looking up again, she peered not at the faces but beyond them, seeking for a glimpse of the Great Temple. Once she caught sight of it, far off to her left, she decided to make her way towards the vast building, as that had been the place she knew for sure her father had been heading.
For what seemed like an age, she soldiered on, using the agility and litheness inherited from her talented mother, dancing through brief openings, darting through spaces. Where those talents couldn't help her, she proceeded by squeezing through tiny gaps between people and where there were none, strategically pinching people or standing on their toes in order to create the space she needed to get by when they jumped and moved in pain. A quick flash of a sweet and innocent smile got her out of trouble, when pained faces would angrily turn to question who had injured them.
Finally, she could hear the chanting and counter chanting of the priests and see, over the heads of the thin line of people left in front of her, the tall colonnaded temple looming over her. Making a last effort to push to the very front, this time she accidentally stood on the toes of a large man as she tried to squeeze past him. With a roar of pain, emanating from above her, she felt the push of a large hand, as he shoved her away from him, and she flew forward, out of the crowd, landing heavily on her knees, her face smashing into the thigh of a priest.
Shockingly disturbed from his reverent prayer, the bald headed man in white, turned a furious face towards her and let out a shout of anger at such blasphemy. Dragging herself to her feet, she felt her face go ashen in fear at having triggered the anger of such a revered man. Visions of eternal damnation entered her head, her soul being cast into the belly of the beast, never to be reborn.
All courage and composure left her and she fled. But in her blind panic, ran the wrong way.
Without thinking she charged not back towards the crowd behind her, but right into the crowd of priests lined up in front of the temple beyond her, and instead of removing herself from the vicinity of pious wrath, she threw herself right into a bubbling cauldron of it.
The song and counter song of the religious continued, but was joined in a third discordant counterpoint by the contingent of angry men's voices which filled the air. Hands tried to grab hold of her as she blindly bumped and span around, trying to find her way out as soon as she realised what she had done. She could feel the tears of panic and fear streaming down her cheeks, even though she couldn't remember actually starting to cry.
A hand grabbed hold of her long black hair, and she was yanked backwards, her head pulled back to see the livid face of a heavy set, silver body painted, older priest.
"Impudent child!" he snarled, his hand tightening its hold on her hair, causing her to cry out in pain as it pulled on her scalp.
"Stop!" another voice called out. A voice different from the others, softer, lighter. Feminine.
Heads turned, voices quietened, as the group of 20 or so priests caught up in the turmoil turned in the direction of the commanding voice. Head still pulled back, movement restricted, the child moved her eyes towards the sound.
Surrounded by bald men, who cleared a path for her quickly and reverently, the long black haired woman with ebony eyes, dressed in a white streaked gold threaded linen sheath which tied beneath her breasts, with an ornate gold circlet on her head and gold armlets running the length of her forearms, strode towards them almost imperiously.
As she walked, she snapped at the silver we'eb who held the child firm. "Release her!" His grip loosened and retracted immediately.
Freed, the child looked about as if to run, before her curiosity got the better of her, and she stayed to watch this woman's continuing approach. The child could see that she carried in one hand a golden sistrum, the instrument used in priestly displays, and about her person, on the armlets, necklace and circlet she wore, were the symbols of a religious.
The symbols of Isis.
She was a priestess, and from the way the men around her reacted, she seemed to outrank them. From their facial expressions, she was at least, 'A servant of the god'. That thought alone gave her pause. In her young experience, men did not obey women, except for servants and slaves. The way the men parted in front of her was almost miraculous to watch.
The woman reached her and looked down, a speculative look on her face that almost looked like a smile.
"Are you well, Anck-sa-namun?" the woman asked, and on hearing her name from this woman's mouth, the little girl's mouth dropped open.
"Answer!" the heavy set priest snarled, trying to get into the good graces of this senior ranking priestess of his sect, a woman that he had certainly not expected to see. He was met by a glare of such distaste from the priestess that he almost flinched under it.
"You will be silent." She said levelly, but her voice dripped with malevolence "He who does not value a child does not truly serve Isis, or the Gods, and should have no voice in this place." She looked around at the others before returning her gaze to the man.
"A child is the essence of the future, and should be carefully moulded by those around them, like clay on a potters wheel. You and your ilk break them with your treatment, and waste their value." She looked back towards Anck-sa-namun, and a soft smile played once again around her mouth, encouraging the child, till the little girl moved towards her seeking her touch, her protection.
The woman stroked Anck-sa-namun's jet black hair almost absently. "This one has great value. More value than you know, and more than you or a thousand of your sort is worth."
Moving down to sit on her haunches, the priestess moved her beautiful and highly decorated face to a level with the little girls. Her ring bedecked hand moved gently to the child's chin and moved her head up and down, as if closely examining the girl's features.
"You command them." Anck-sa-namun murmured, finally plucked up the courage to speak, and pointing at the priests. The priestess smiled.
"I do." She stated before returning to her scrutiny of the girl.
"You are much like your mother." The priestess spoke softly, so softly that only Anck-sa-namun could hear her words, and looked again at the woman in surprise. "You have her spirit and will be a great beauty when you are older. But you will fly higher than she." She nodded approvingly, as if satisfied by the certain knowledge of this.
Then her look grew intense, dark even, and she gripped the child's arms tightly with her hands, pinning them almost painfully to the girl's sides.
"Remember this moment, little bird," she commanded the girl. "Remember me. Know that grasping hands will seek to block your flight. If you wish to fly free seek the highest branch so you may soar. And always remember that the highest branches grow on the mightiest trees."
Anck-sa-namun stared mutely at this beautiful priestess who commanded men, knew her name without the asking of it, and seemed to know her mother. She wanted to ask questions, many questions, but the woman turned her head from her, just as she tried to form the words of the first.
"Go now," the priestess said, rising up from her crouched position with the girl. "Your father comes."
The girl, looked around trying to look where the priestess was looking, and after a moment, there pushing through the crowd was her father. Her relief at his approach was tempered by the desire to stay here and query this woman not only about how she knew her name and of her family but about how she came to be who she was? And, in the way of little girls, how she too could be like her?
After acknowledging her father's cries to her with a wave and a smile, she turned back to start her questions. Only to find the priestess gone, the ranks of priests closing behind her in her wake, returning once more to their lines, resuming their prayers.
__________________________
