In the Nile's Emerald Depths, chapter 6

A few alterations to the general plot of the movie...

It's always great to have feedback, so a quick shot out to my followers!

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He did not return to that room for a very long time. She was still there- - - -the midwife and her women were cleaning her and preparing her for the embalmers. They braided her hair in golden beads, dyed her nails, painted on a thin layer of gold upon her eyes.

Following promises had never ached so much.

For a time, he simply held his son, cradling him to his chest, holding the tiny skull in one hand. The child was red and wrinkled, tiny, gasping and whimpering still for breath. The High Priest massaged the babe's chest as the midwife instructed. The child coughed, then accepted the rush of air to tiny lungs. It squirmed against him, murmuring whimpers. By midday, it had fallen asleep. He placed the babe in the craved cradle in the nursery- - - one Masika picked out, with stars and suns and animals painted along the wooden surface. On the windowsill nearby sat a small, gray stuffed mouse. Imhotep turned away.

The child he could not resent. It was his cause, but no malicious reason. He was a babe. Masika's choice.

She had picked this crying creature over continuing her life with him. Dedicated her final moments of breath into naming, caressing, promising the baby eternal love. Nsu Nife-en-Ankh. Strong breath of life.

A slap in the face.

Imhotep felt utterly wasted. Masika's eyes still haunted him, wide and bright and begging for love. Ever his mouse.

All day he sat next to his son, rocking the babe when he awoke, singing soft songs he'd learned long ago at the temple. A wet nurse arrived shortly before dusk. Imhotep passed off the babe for the evening, departing for his temple. Preparations must be made for his wife. A tomb awaited her- - - just outside of town, west of the Nile she so loved. He would be buried there too, in time, then Nsu. All of their children would have.

After informing his men of Masika's passing, the High Priest retired to one of the small dormitories housed in the temple. On the thin pallet, for the first time since he felt her soul rushing past him, the man's shoulders heaved, howling against the cushions, fists clenched. He was a breaking dam of raw emotion. Oh, that she could see him now. If Anubis granted him anything, it would be that his wife see him falling in such a manner. Let her feel the burden of his pain, echoing for eternity, let her see the cracks and faults. He would have torn apart Thebes, opened the afterlife's doors to have her back again. But it was not to be.

She was gone. Dead and gone and never returning to him.

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From that point, the priest threw himself into his work. He rarely saw the boy, who was primarily reared by his nurse and the household staff. Two years after Masika's passing, he was a dark, babbling creature. The skin was about her colour, honeyed, but his eyes were as dark and liquid as his father's. He was a pleasing little creature. Imhotep adored the boy, but avoid excessive attentions to him. Nsu, as he was commonly called, did not appear to greatly miss time with his father. But he did, however, occasionally strain for an invisible figure, always out of Imhotep's eye, the babe's chubby limbs wriggling. The High Priest supposed it to be Masika, watching from beyond her tomb.

He had sealed her up somberly, wrapped in white linen, arms crossed, surrounded by treasures, including a miniature of her babe. Words were painted on the tomb walls, describing her life, beauty, and marriage. She was granted a peaceful passage. He still visited, occasionally, almost always alone. Though, when Nsu came, he could not understand the gravity of the place. Yet without fail, he would reach up to touch her painted likeness. Imhotep could barely stand it.

The nurse knew to answer any questions about Nsu's mother, when the time came. Imhotep would not keep the memories from him. That was not kind.

As part of his work, he frequented the palace. Seti wanted to commemorate his rule with a series of new monuments, and required a priestly point of view. He wished to leave a glorious realm for his son Ramesses. The boy was a mere child, but already showed great leadership. He had potential to be a fine ruler. Imhotep was charged with overseeing the praise and attribution portion of the statues and such. It was in service of his kingdom, harmless work that would take his mind off from things of a darker nature.

In the third year of Masika's end, his eyes were drawn away from the architect's layouts to the court beauty- Anck-su-namun. The forbidden fruit. Every day she was painted in layers and layers of gold and black all to prevent men's lust upon her. She flaunted this metaphorical fence, wearing barring clothes, emphasizing her shapeliness through style of walk, etc. The king worshiped her. She was, in a sense, his greatest mortal weakness. In less than four years in his court, she had battled her way up to become the primary concubine, and was quick to begin eyeing the consort position. Though, if the princess had her way, the concubine would be out of house, home, and perhaps a few necessary limbs. Nefertiri's grudge held strong.

Imhotep at first paid Anck-su-namun no mind. She tended to drape over the Pharaoh like a spoilt cat while they were in a session of planning, which was annoying, and her found her bold nature, sexuality simply bizarre, unnecessary. She was silently vulgar. A powerful she-cat, sleek, simpering, everything he detested. Imhotep avoided her as much as possible, but Seti enjoyed her company (if not her form), and allowed her to lounge around him even as they discussed delicate business.

Then she began to leave him with lingering gazes. Began seeking him out with questions on ceremony, decorum, his duties. All while laying out that lanky, smooth, golden form before him.

Soon, he was lost in the depth of her eyes.

And, sooner still, he found himself listening to her plight, her dream of higher things. If only if only Seti would see her as…a consort? But what could a high priest do about that….?

Oh, he might do anything.

In exchange for a kiss, the High Priest accepted the quest.

It was in discussion over the newest temple resurrection in Memphis. Nefertiri was sitting in this time, instead of Anck-su-namun. The princess was quite pleased to be there. It was the night Imhotep had selected for approaching the consort topic. Gently segwaying into the topic of pleasing gods, and Ramesses's future, the High Priest began to speak of marriage, additional heirs, how it might be to Seti's advantage to produce a princess worthy of marriage to Ramesses's, as Nefertiri was already engaged. Seti listened patiently, absorbing the priest's words. The longer Imhotep spoke, the narrower Nefertiri's eyes became, until they were hateful silts carved into a stone face. When Anck-su-namun's name was mentioned, the princess's eyes closed altogether in disgust.

Afterwards, they departed, Seti pondering the priest's words, Nefertiri livid. She stormed from the room after Imhotep, calling down the corridor for him. "Priest, a word."

He detested her tone, but came to her beckoning. They entered one of the palace's numerous courtyards. He sat on the edge of the center fountain, waiting, arms crossed. The princess had a mighty scowl.

"What do you think you're playing at, suggesting my father's head whore becomes consort, a position of honor and dignity far beyond her? I thought you respected my father, and this house," she spat.

"I am looking out for your brother's future," the High Priest replied calmly. "She is a beautiful woman who will provide strong, noble heirs- - - "

Nefertiri stopped him sort. "Oh," she said, eyes wide. "Oh, oh, oh. I can see. I see what has happened. She has you. Has you thinking she is loves you, ought to be pitied and protected." The princess laughed, but there was no mirth in her notes. "You, the High Priest? Succumb to the petty tricks of a pretty face."

"She is more than a trick," Imhotep snarled, rising.

"No," the princess shook her head, mouth set bittersweetly. "Oh, how wrong I was. It is not my father nor my family you so greatly disrespect in entertaining this notion."

"Ah?"

"Masika is the one you dishonor." Nefertiri's voice cooled considerably at these words. "For Anck-su-namun is everything she is not, everything she detested, everything greater than that whore."

"You dare…?" Imhotep whispered, shaking slightly, enraged. "Compare…they are- - You have no idea what I have suffered for her. She left me."

Pity tinged the princess's tone. "Loneliness is no reason to be foolish. Do you think she would be happy to see you suffer? Happy to see her good work, her love, fall as another's was lifted in her stead. She would not like this path, Imhotep."

"You do not know."

"I was her friend- - - "

He rounded on the princess. "And I her husband," he hissed. "And I see her, every night, bare and sorrowful. Her eyes are on me, always. I can see her always, Nefertiri, haunting me, in awake and sleep. We're bound eternally, but I am stuck to this life. I am…I have been abandoned here by her. Do not presume to know my pain, princess. Ours are not the same."

There was a long, long moment where neither moved nor breathed nor spoke. They were frozen, the princess's eyes wide. He had surprised her. Imhotep had never spoken of Masika's constant-looming over his life. He had not told Nefertiri of Nsu's visions, his invisible figure, blind love of a mother he never truly knew. It was not to be spoken of-he was High Priest, noble and revered. High Priest did not have visions. They did not muse or mourn over dead wives. They were detached men. They moved on.

Only, he hadn't.

Finally, the princess spoke slowly, pronouncing each word.

"If you loved her, you would stop this. Honor her. Stay away from that vile snake. You are better. Scheming is poison."

"I cannot stop now."

"Can you not try?" she challenged.

He did not answer. The princess made to leave, but paused before turning back to say:

"If this is the lot you cast now, know that as dearly as I loved Masika, love your son, and respect you, I shall not be idle as your and her work to manipulate my father."

With nothing left to say, the princess made her exit, silent and fuming. Imhotep was left alone, the fountain's quiet gurgle and moon's cool beams his only companions.

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The day came when Anck-su-namun's love tested him, truly tested him. The day they were caught.

Seti had decided against Imhotep's proposal. In part, the High Priest was relived, but the concubine's disappointment mingled with his own emotions; on her behalf he was slighted. That was when Anck-su-namun began plotting. A few whispers, and the priest was convinced of the Pharaoh's wickedness, the strength of their love, how their freedom came with quite a cost. At the beginning, Imhotep resisted these dark schemes. He was Seti's advisor if not friend. He'd been present for the birth almost all of the king's children, baptized them. He had blessed all royal artifacts, performed many a ceremony at the king's bidding. Seti had trusted him even when others tutted. The Pharaoh gave him a chance; the confidence to assume his role with dignity, even at his young age.

Her smudged paint was their undoing. Suddenly, the Pharaoh was there, and what else was there to do? One look into Anck-su-namun's dark eyes he knew they had to act. The cost of their secrecy must be paid. With every blow to Seti, Imhotep grew a little more numb. Beyond a conscious state, he looked up to see Anck-su-namun, and saw that she was smiling. Reveling in their brutality. She was enjoying the moment. But Imhotep looked away. He had long stopped seeing.

Then he was being dragged away by his ever-loyal priests, taken for his own good, as the Mejai tore through the doors, screaming at the concubine, calling out for their king. Again and again Imhotep promised her in his heart that he would resurrect her with Anubis's spell- - - exactly what Masika had once begged him to withhold. But she was not Masika.

The shadow of her suicide haunted him throughout the night as they road to the city of the dead. Seeing that blade plunging into her stomach….The emotions were different. There was a smaller depth than what he had experienced in losing Masika. The priest naturally assumed it had to do with the spell-soon the concubine would be arisen, new again. There had been no such reassurances with his young wife.

He resented her for it.

Over the vessel he prayed, calling his love from Anubis's realm back to a world of life. The dark mass that arose did not resemble his love. But Imhotep kept reading, eyes moving back to the body. They did not shift again.

That is, until the Mejai pulled him away. For a brief instant she breathed and lived again. Yet the incantation was incomplete; she faded in seconds. The priest's shattering scream was enough to silence a few of the Mejai. Pity reigned in the room-they knew him, knew of his losses.

And they also knew of his crimes. There was no salvation for the murderer of a pharaoh. His fate was determined. They would not consider any alternative to the Hom Dai.

There, in the temple, surrounded by his men being wrapped and wounded, torn apart by make-shift embalmers, Imhotep considered his life. Nsu would be cared for by his nurse, the others left in the temple, perhaps even the princess, or Masika's father. He would thrive without his father, perhaps moreso now. The temple had a secondary priest would might easily assume Imhotep's place. All orders of business could be taken care of by Osi.

It was a true pity he would not see the afterlife. Death with Masika had been all he ever wanted. But his punishment conveniently did not allow for any pleasures. He would rot, for eternity, in the tomb.

Or so they thought.

As the lid closed, as the beetles began to tear at his flesh, the High Priest only saw one thing- - -the very thing he'd concentrated on since the embalming process began, the object of his sole focus. A pair of blue-green eyes, deep, like the Nile's emerald depths.

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