Chapter 7 - Mercy
The first time Harry had ever been involved in a diplomatic contact had been quite messy. He had been asked to sit alongside the Pharaoh for a meeting, a few weeks after he had been appointed as Advisor. He hadn't been used to the idea yet, since he had really only gotten a lot of verbal instructions up to that point. It had been a rather cold morning, and as Harry waited impatiently at the gates, he had thought about the role he was being asked to play, and worried what to do.
Oh, there was no mistaking that it was a role he was asked to take on. Even the Pharaoh, who wielded the greatest amount of power in the entire nation, played a role outside his private chambers that differed from his real self in subtle but important ways. He acted aloof and almost ungraspable whenever guests were in his presence, and there were many who seemed to think that this was expected of someone in the position. When the man entered his private chambers, however, the collar came off. Harry had never seen him smile, not really, outside those rooms. One half was the pitiless ruler that had ordered him into a snake's den, and would have cared nothing for his death. The other was a well-read and remarkably jovial husband and father who cared little for formalities outside the public eye, and was patient to a fault.
When Harry was asked to do something similar, to have a public persona that was headstrong and unflinching, he hadn't been sure if he was capable of that. He hadn't even been sure if he wanted to do that. It reminded him of too many people in his own time that had one opinion when they spoke to some, but in secret disagreed entirely. Lucius Malfoy came to mind, or even Professor Snape. Uncertain but willing to try out acting like the Pharaoh expected, he had gone into the meeting while focusing on how he acted when he met Voldemort face to face for the last time. He had been strong then – he could do that again.
He had put on his golden collar like he did any other day, but it had been different then. The collar was almost like a mask, he supposed; much like the Pharaoh's own. When he put it on, he had to consider more than his next attempt at figuring out magic or his next journey to find Khnurn, or to track down magical creatures like Phoenixes. With the collar, he was Advisor of Egypt, a representative for the Pharaoh, and with that came many expectations.
It had not taken long before his magic became a topic of popular speculation among those of the common people that he frequently met, and many made the link to the god Heru when they heard his name and realized the close connection he now had to the royal house. An emissary from the gods, that's what they called him, and the idea had stuck, much like it had with Anedjib in Per-Bastet. His public personality, much like that of the god he was name after, was expected to be wise and firm, and dangerous when angered, too.
That first meeting had been with someone who had come from the far south. He was an emissary from the nation just south of Egypt's border, where few managed to make a meagre living. They felt threatened by the appearance of such a comparatively mighty force so close to their homes, and sought to own the land they lived in. Though the Pharaoh had offered several possible solutions, including counting the villages among those of Egypt and extending protection, the emissary had been adamant, even downright rude.
Harry, in the end, had gotten impatient. When the man had finally gotten so far as insulting the royal house for driving the border south – even though it had been such for centuries - he had snapped. The emissary had been pushed back into his chair by an invisible force, suddenly incapable of making any sound, as Harry had forcefully pointed out that his tone was unacceptable, and to try again after he had calmed down. Though the negotiations turned sour and the man quickly left the city, doubtlessly to arrange for a bigger escort the next time, the Pharaoh had seemed oddly pleased by the whole thing, after his outburst.
When they spoke about it later that day, behind closed doors, he had found out why. In the moment he silenced the southerner, he had not been thinking like a recent recruit to his position. Harry had reacted as if genuinely offended at the insult, even though he would normally have shrugged at it. From that day onward, the Pharaoh never mentioned a second persona or a mask, again. With a sickly feeling, Harry had wondered if it was because of his past – because of Voldemort – that he knew how to be like someone else, how to wear a mask like that. He had been inside the man's head more than he cared for, had even been possessed. Had some half-formed memory of the Horcrux he had carried remained?
Staring at the trio of priests across the table, Harry knew that his mask was vital, here. These people would not respect him as he usually was – a lot more forgiving, a lot less theatrical, far more interested in magic and history than in any obscure rituals or foreign gods. This City of Storms was strange to him, and he knew little to nothing of their religion or their culture, but he knew Egypt, and how the Pharaoh expected to be spoken for. His little demonstration was far flashier than he would've ever done as himself, but the Advisor didn't know such restraint. The Pharaoh would not speak in half measures, and thus neither should his representative – and he wouldn't accept a refusal.
He needed to get to some kind of agreement with the leaders, some kind of agreement of equal exchange, though he was unsure what to offer them. He had never put much stock in religion, but here it was a major part of everyone's lives, and though it felt rather cynical to think of it that way, he could use it to get out of this mess. He was using magic, yes, but these people didn't know it. If the sheer threat of foreign gods didn't worry these people enough, then he would have to play it up a little. Beyond that, he didn't know what he could do here – all the jewellery he had with him wouldn't be enough to free prisoners if the locals didn't want to lose them.
Wosret glanced between the shattered remains of the window and Harry, his mouth slightly open in amazement, though he had never voice it in front of so many people. Mot looked on nervously, glancing at Harry for guidance. Harry vowed to get him back to Egypt, and to figure out what to do with him there. If he was a wizard, as he suspected, then it seemed his next research topic would be on something rather obscure – wand crafting.
"You have had several minutes to rethink your position," Harry said at last. "I will not have Egyptian people in foreign prisons when our two nations are not at war. Return these people to us, and we will attempt to salvage this diplomatic mission. If you do not –" He glanced at the destroyed window. "Well, you have already seen what consequences might follow."
Mot translated quickly, stuttering slightly. When he finished, he turned to Harry. "I have seen others that have been around as long as I have, or at least I have heard of them. Few of the children make it for very long, but there are adults…"
Harry grimaced, and nodded. "Tell them this, then." He glanced at the priests, and shook his head. "You have held Mot hostage for years, and there are doubtlessly others that have been here as long. Any possible arrangement between our nations would necessarily mean their release. There can be no negotiation regarding that. This will happen, one way or another."
The middle priest hissed, his voice returning to him as Harry cancelled his Silencing spell. "They are all our prisoners. If you wish to take them, pay for their lives."
"Pay?" Harry narrowed his eyes. "If you do not wish to have any agreements between Egypt and your city, then deny my proposal. We will leave with all the benefits that Egypt might bring; we will also take the prisoners. The only matter to be decided is whether or not you will gain from this meeting or not."
"You would retrieve them yourself?" The priest seemed amused by this. "You believe we would allow such trespassing into the depths of our great temple?"
"No. But you cannot stop me," Harry retorted. Almost as one, the spears flew out of the hands of the guards around the room and clattered to the table. Expelliarmus was very handy, sometimes. He sent a cocky smile to Mot. "As you have no doubt observed, I have brought a small group of Egyptian soldiers with me. Under the protection of the gods, your weapons will not harm them, or me. Your arrows will fall to the ground, broken. Your swords will glance off as if they hit stone. Be wise, and acknowledge a greater power."
The middle priest shook his head as he glanced worriedly at the stack of weapons that now covered the table. None of the guards were dumb enough to try and retrieve their spear. "We... understand that you are offended by our practices of law, but is there no better way to resolve this misunderstanding? All our prisons are filled with those who have done harm to others, or to Ba'al Hadad through blasphemy. By our laws, not yours, they are to be put to death."
Harry sighed. "If they are to be put to death because you cannot free them, then surely you would not be troubled by sending them to another nation? It is no longer your concern what happens to Egyptian prisoners, since we will be taking them back to our own country. If they have committed crimes, then they will be punished there."
"It is our laws that they have broken!"
"What difference does it make to you, that they are killed here, or removed from your land? You will not face them again, unless there is war. The only war that may start here is one of your own making."
"The prisoners belong to those who live in this city, under the wrathful eye of Ba'al Hadad." The head priest leaned forward, and suddenly a thin smile appeared where before there had only been anger. Harry felt a shiver run down his back at the man's expression. It seemed almost… gleeful?
The light of the morning sun that had been streaming in through Harry's newly made window suddenly dimmed, as if someone had put a tarp over it. High in the sky above the City of Storms, something moved. Wisps of white sped through the sky so quickly that Harry could follow their path as they streaked by each other. In the distance, vast cloudbanks approached like floating mountain ranges. The wind chilled noticeably, and Harry shivered at the bizarre sensation as the air rushed in. It felt strange, fluid, even tingly on his skin.
"Magic," he said at last, glancing down at Mot. No, it wasn't the boy's doing; he just looked terrified at the sudden change of weather. This was far outside the ability of an untrained kid, anyway. To change the weather, to manipulate the clouds themselves to this extent, that was the kind of thing that Merlin allegedly did, not any normal wizard. Even Dumbledore at his most powerful hadn't pulled off these kinds of spells. Harry looked back at the head priest with narrowed eyes. "What did you do? You summoned a storm within your own city?"
The head priest smiled. The priest had known, Harry concluded. He had been waiting for the storm to come, had been stalling for time and Harry had indulged him without realizing it. The priest stood up from his seat, his arms wide. "You have brought His wrath upon yourself, foreigner. You who have so blatantly offended his name, you will be the first to be struck down!" he shouted over the wind. "You are all blasphemers in the land of our Lord of Storms, and he shall not let you leave. Let this storm be the one in which you die."
Harry gulped as roiling clouds coalesced into a massive bank of seething rage; tendrils of twisting wind lanced down towards the ground, lightning crackling between the small tornadoes as the rain picked up. Thunder echoed through the sky, and a sudden bolt of lightning impacted a few kilometres away, only a portent. Harry stepped back from the window warily, glancing at the priests. Whoever was causing this, whoever had this much magic, had to be very powerful. With the way the storm converged around the city, they were also nearby.
"Mot, don't leave my side," Harry snapped as a nearly solid sheet of water fell from the sky and blanketed the entire city; little streams formed immediately, meandering down the streets and along the major roads. Mot shuddered as he hesitantly nodded, cringing at every thunderclap. Clearly this wasn't the first of these storms he had experienced. Harry quickly snapped off all the protective shields he could think of, and though the wind and rain stopped hitting him in the face, it wouldn't do much to stop the storm from getting through to everyone else. "Who is doing this?" Harry asked as he faced the head priest, pointing outside. "It's not you three, clearly, and I very much doubt it's your god. Who is doing this?"
The head priest shook his head slowly. "I had hoped to see what power the Egyptians could wield, when we invited you here, Egyptian. Yet – even the Advisor to the Pharaoh pales in comparison to the might of our city." He glanced at the priests to his side with a frosty expression. "The lightning will not end until you lie dead in the streets."
It had all been a trick – the city officials had decided to pit their magic against Egypt's, and they'd found him wanting. Had the Egyptian captives been a trick too? Mot? Harry glanced down at the trembling figure, dismissing the notion. The boy looked far too terrified, and the poisonous looks thrown his way by the men across the room were far too genuine. The priests had taken advantage of an existing dispute rather than manufacturing their own; they had used Mot's escape to plan their own little test. He had been goaded into showing them his magic, and now they knew that he couldn't really summon storms. They had then assumed that to be the limit of his ability.
It wasn't surprising, Harry realized. These people clearly had some kind of contact with magic, for them to summon storms. Magic was wild in these times, though, and spells were mostly later inventions, as were wands. If there were wizards at all, they would probably be one-trick ponies with only a few tricks at best, and no idea on how to use them effectively. That's why the priests hadn't expected more of him; he had blown up a window, shown the priests a few minor tricks, and they hadn't considered the unthinkable possibility that their guest might know a lot more. They would never assume that he was anything more than another primitive wizard without a clue.
"What do you want?" Harry asked at last, his wand still out. He would need to wait for the right moment. He glanced out, and frowned. "You have made your point, priest. You can stop the spell, now."
The head priest, presumably the leader of this particular city, pursed his lips at that. Harry saw him look away for a moment; something about what he had said had perturbed the man. There was only one logical conclusion that he could come to. These people had someone who could summon a storm – but they couldn't control them. If they had been able to actually boss these people around, then the storm would come and go at will, which it clearly didn't. There was only one group of people here that would fit in that category."
"You can't stop it," Harry said softly. "You've unleashed this storm, but you can't control it, can you? Either your wizards aren't competent enough, they don't know how to do it, or..." He narrowed his eyes. "You're forcing a prisoner to do the dirty work for you."
The head priest gritted his teeth at that. "You will meet our demands, Egyptian, or we will unleash our storms upon a city that is not built for them, that will be ripped apart and drowned within the day." Sharp wind suddenly burst into the room, a howling gale that rattled the walls. "You came here with demands, but you are a powerless nation, too weak to stand in the way of this fury."
That was practically confirmation. They had captured someone with enough magical prowess to change the weather, but not to control it. It reminded him of Fiendfyre, which would burn wildly if not controlled by its creator. This city had gotten itself a magical weapon of war. This whole thing had never been a peace talk, or a trading agreement. The City of Storms and its sisters were ready to extend their territory – into Egypt.
There was only one thing he could do to end this here. He would need to defang the snake. The people across from him might believe him beaten; certainly the storm was far greater than any he could conjure o. What they hadn't really considered, it seemed, was that he didn't need a spell of that magnitude.
"Stupefy," Harry yelled, barely audible over the wind. All three priests collapsed into their seats in an instant, and Harry has another spell flying before any of the guards could even snatch up a spear to fight him; a single arrow harmlessly bounced off his Protego. Mot gasped in awe as the last of the guards simply sank to the floor without a word. Harry tapped him on the head and smiled. "Told you I would take care of them."
"Should we not kill these people?" Wosret inquired suddenly, staring at the collapsed figures as they breathed slowly. "They will surely become dangerous once more, when they wake up."
"They are not the real threat here. If I remove their trump card, their great advantage, they will give in to any of our demands," Harry said shortly. "Whoever they have locked up in their dungeons is the one we need to take care of. Free them or kill them, without their storms, the city will have no power to throw around anymore."
"I can take you to the prisons," Mot said after a moment. I don't know it that well," Mot said softly. His eyes widened, then. "The blood!"
Harry looked around, confused. There were a lot of unconscious people now, but no blood. "What are you talking about?"
"The sacrifices," Mot said quickly. "Down in the lower levels, there's something that needs blood. They always bring things past my cell, on the way down. All sorts of animals, sometimes children." He shuddered. "The animals would be brought back without any blood in them…"
Only one word came immediately to Harry's mind. Vampire. If he was dealing with one of those bloodsucking bastards, this just got riskier. He would need fire, and cutting spells. He had never killed a vampire before, but he knew how it was done. A magical one, though, could that even happen? What kind of ancient being would it need to be to make fantastically powerful storms like this out of thin air? "I don't suppose anyone has garlic?"
Of course they hadn't. That meant that he would be going into what was probably a vampire's den with only a wand and a few tricks, and not even the sun to cover one's escape. Going outside in this horrible weather was madness – the storm was vicious and only getting stronger – and waiting it out would not make matters any better.
"I'm heading down there, but I have to take care of something… make sure nobody comes in here," Harry said sharply, stepping over towards the unconscious priests. If he had been any good at memory manipulation, maybe he would have obliviated them. For now, something else would work. Tapping each of the people in turn, he mumbled under his breath. The Confundus charm was quite useful, and while the priests were stunned like this, it would take well enough to last for a while. "Go, I'll be right behind you."
Mot and Wosret quickly left, followed by Sam and the others; he tried to ignore the wide-eyed stares from a few of them, focusing on the task at hand. He tried not to think about what international incident he might've caused, either. In about five minutes, the priests and all the guards would wake up – and they would be quite convinced that Harry had taken to the streets, fleeing towards the Western Gate. Hopefully it would buy enough time to deal with whatever was causing the storm that darkened the sky.
"Move, and don't be too loud," Harry motioned as he finished his spells and took a right into the hall. No guards or priests had yet appeared from elsewhere in the building – that luck probably wouldn't hold up for very long. "Mot, lead the way."
Harry stayed close to the boy as the group slowly descended a few sets of stairs, all of them rather crude and unstable compared to their Egyptian counterparts, though the construction was marvellous compared to the rest of the city. Harry stunned three people along the way – priests, just minding their own business; he didn't take a chance. They would wake up after an hour or so, confused, but they would be fine. They finally passed down a hallway one floor below ground level; Mot began shivering heavily, his eyes staring unswervingly at a half-open door in the wall.
"What is it?"
"It's my cell," Mot said hesitantly. Harry glanced inside, and grimaced. A man laid spread out on the floor, his eyes wide open. He was dead, and the clear cut across his neck was plainly visible, a thin line of blood leaking down from it. He didn't need to guess who was responsible. For this one, he hadn't been in time.
"Let's just keep going," Harry muttered, glancing to Wosret, who had been unusually silent for a while now. "Are you alright, old man?"
"I am not old," Wosret muttered irritably. "Do you have any idea what you're doing, here, Advisor? Angering foreign gods, destroying the peace?"
"They're holding Egyptians in this building, and they were planning on invading Egypt," Harry said dryly. "I would like to see you handle this one any better. We will free the Egyptians that have been captured, and remove the threat; any trade agreements will have to wait until these people change their ways."
"And what of their reaction?"
"I honestly don't care," Harry muttered darkly. "The Pharaoh protects Egypt, from whatever might harm it. He would not allow another nation to invade without consequence, or to take citizens without an existing war. I am merely reinforcing those positions, as his representative. By leaving all those who we encounter alive, they cannot truly blame us for their hardships. If they are to blame any of us, then, it would be me. I can accept that."
Wosret sighed. "I will defer to your judgment – but I disagree with it."
"Noted and disregarded. I will discuss the topic with the Pharaoh when we return to the capital." He frowned. "Am I the only one that feels the sudden cold?" The temperature had to have fallen ten degrees or more in just a few minutes. The air was moist and felt tingly on the skin, as if it was charged with electricity. It wasn't coming from outside, from some hole in the wall like before, or window. No, the very ground felt cold when he touched it. "It is coming from below us."
"The sacrificial chamber," Mot said, shivering.
"I need you to watch the way out," Harry said at last, facing Sam. "If the priests figure out where we are, they will send people after us." He glanced behind him worriedly. "I'm the only one that can make a difference in there, I think. You should all stay here, and keep each other safe until I return."
"Advisor…"
"You can consider that an order," Harry said, frowning. He looked at Mot for a long moment. "Don't worry, I'll come back."
Harry didn't wait for a response to that, striding quickly into the next hallway, where static electricity sparked at him from a whole array of objects, though a quick protective spell took care of that. Even the substances that shouldn't conduct were sparking, the very air charged with magic that he could feel in the air. He didn't know how any wizard could be in the middle of all this without such spells, and he rather doubted that they had been invented yet. Harry frowned as he moved on – all the stormy behaviour even within these walls didn't make much sense if he was dealing with vampires. They might be dead, but they could still be physically hurt by things, and this wouldn't be comfortable for anyone.
Three cells in the next hallway contained prisoners, all of them covering their head and nestling in the corner of their respective little rooms. Harry ignored them for the moment – they would be safe in there until this was over, since the rooms were isolated enough to avoid the biggest magical backlash. The cold air made way for a sweltering temperature at times, as if all the warmth was being pulled from the surroundings into this central part of the temple's lowest level for brief moments, before it dissipated again. Dead cows and other animals were stacked up against the walls, blood spattered all across the floor. In another corner, much to Harry's disgust, were the remains of a child of only a few years old. Lightning forked through the room, impacting Harry's Shield Charm with enough force to send him back a step. Rain fell, in-doors, with a thick mist creeping over the ceiling like a pack of clouds.
"Stop it, whoever you are!" Harry yelled, forcing himself onward despite the fact that the tingling on his skin had gone from annoying to painful, right through his spells. Muggles would've died in this, he was sure. Harry blasted open the next door, and stopped in his tracks. There, tied up in chains and surrounded by three corpses, was the culprit. There sat the one who had caused the storm, the magical weapon he had sought for.
Its beak was withered and broken, part of it entirely missing. One of its eyes looked mournfully at him, the other was swollen and glassy. Its feathers, the few it had left, hung around its bone-thin frame in such a thin layer that it could certainly not fly anymore, though the creature flailed wildly anyway, trying to get out of its bondage. Arcs of electricity darted across its skin, discharging against the ground or the pole it was tied to. A low, sad wail broke through the sound of the static and the howling wind.
Harry realized at last what it was. A Thunderbird. Harry stood transfixed for a long time, as the creature thrashed, its eye roving madly around its enclosure. Blood was smeared across its head, and Harry realized it wasn't the blood of the creature itself; a large bucket had been placed in front of it, filled with bull's blood or that of some other animal. The bird was old and weary, sick from captivity, and it could probably no longer eat solid food. It had been fed liquids instead – when water alone wouldn't keep it alive, the locals had resorted to more barbaric sources for their nutrients. It had effectively been tortured, and in its pain it unleashed its power, the incredibly magic of a species that had gone extinct centuries before his own time.
"You are far from home," Harry said at last. He had seen Phoenixes, sure, and they were considered rare. He'd never thought he'd see this creature at all. Considered a long-dead magical avian, the Thunderbird was not mentioned in many textbooks on Care for Magical Creatures, but there were still rumours among wizards and Muggles alike that a few were alive in the darker parts of the world. He had found one now, though he had no idea how many were left in this time; perhaps the species was already on its way out, and people had taken advantage of that. Harry knew one thing, though. This was a bird from North America. It was thousands of miles from where it was supposed to live.
It was like the Runespoor at the palace, Harry realized; a magical creature in Muggle ownership, used or abused for their own means. There were no witches or wizards to take care of them, to protect them from harm, to hide their presence entirely. The serpent at the palace had been cared for – it didn't mind the treatment, and had been healthy. This bird had been treated rather more harshly. The bird's eyes glanced feverishly around the room, and Harry doubted it could see even with the relatively intact eye. The bird shuddered and jerked as if it was still being hit or poked, caught in its own imagination or insanity. If it hadn't been chained up, it would likely have hit its head or toppled off its stand, probably injuring it fatally with the slight frame it had. Perhaps it was trying to do exactly that.
"Stupefy," Harry said softly, sighing in relief as the bird stilled, its eye closing as it sagged in its restraints. The electricity in the air dissipated almost immediately, and silence descended as the winds died down as the sudden flashes of hot and cold equalized. He stroked the tortured head of the Thunderbird carefully, and it whimpered under his touch, even while unconscious.
"Heru! Heru!"
Harry started as Mot burst into the room, his eyes wide. The boy stared at the Thunderbird as soon as he saw it, and then at the dead bodies on the ground. There was blood everywhere.
"You shouldn't have come in here," Harry said seriously, grabbing the boy by the arm and pulling him back to the door. "Do you know how dangerous it is?" He frowned. "Is there a reason you came for me? Did something happen?"
"When the cold left, I thought…" Mot looked at the bird and shivered. "Is that a monster?"
"No." Harry glanced back at the bird, and he had to admit that the creature looked rather worse for wear with its nearly naked skin and its broken snout. "No – it is a victim. Another prisoner."
"Like me," Mot replied softly, looking at the bird again. "Is it -?"
"It's alive," Harry said morosely. "The storm should be ending, soon. I've stopped its cries, at least for now. That should calm the others down."
The storm couldn't have been caused by this single bird, he was certain of that. Sickly and dying as it was, this one had only been able to generate lightning around itself, only enough to work on a very small part of one floor of the building. It had to have been kept like this for years, weak enough to keep it locked up, but strong enough to call its kind. The magic up there was from other Thunderbirds. Up there flew this one's family, perhaps, or a small community.
With a frown, Harry realized that this city, and others like it, might've been the reason that these Thunderbirds were forgotten in the first place; some small community that had survived thousands of miles from their homeland of America. Here, they were used as weapons; that very use might have led to the extinction of the species.
"Mot," Harry said at last, gazing at the unconscious bird. He would have to try and get in touch with th bird one more time, see if there was any sanity left. "Could you go out for a minute?"
"What? Why?"
"Mot, it's only for a few minutes." Harry replied kindly. "Please – go to Wosret and the others. We'll need to get out of the city with as little fanfare as possible, when we're done here. Tell the others not to follow me out when I pass them, until I tell them that it's fine."
Mot nodded tiredly. "I'll tell them."
Harry nodded, sighing sadly as he gazed on the limp form of the majestic bird. As Mot left, he revived it, though he knew what might happen. The bird cried again immediately in a strangled tone of desperation. Harry stepped closer; the Stunner had robbed it of the strength it had built up, and when he once again stroked its crest, it just crooned mournfully. Harry could practically feel the pain radiating off the broken body; it would never fly again. It wouldn't even walk again. Sightless and driven mad, the creature's life was pitiful.
Harry raised his wand, putting it against the creature's temple. "I'm sorry."
The spell was quick, painless, final.
Harry passed by Wosret and Mot silently, and the former recoiled in horror; Sam didn't do much better, though he definitely kept it hidden. The storm still thundered outside, and Harry forced himself to keep going. Suspended in his arms, impossibly light, was the Thunderbird's body, seeming infinitely more peaceful, now.
Harry didn't glance at the guards that stormed towards him, the priests that had finally seen through his little trick. His protective spells would keep them away. The head priest in particular stood transfixed as Harry approached with the dead creature, his face white as a sheet. Harry didn't spare him another glanced as he turned towards the doors, and opened them from a distance.
His first steps into the gale outside were difficult, as he was nearly swept off his feet. He ignored it, stepping further into the temple's courtyard and slowly lowering the body to the floor, its broken wings spread out as if it could once again fly. Slowly he stood, staring up into the sky. He could hear their cries, now, cutting through the storm – sharp and piercing, in between the low rumbles of thunder. He raised his wand – a simple burst of light, a spell he had first learned in the last task of Triwizard tournament, would guide them to him.
The huge Thunderbird that swooped down from the dark clouds was magnificent, easily twice the size of the one had had carried out, and covered head to toe in bright feathers,almost white. It landed with slow flaps, flashes of lightning crackling over its wings, never darting away from them. Two curled horns stood out from its crown, and its long beak was filled with razor-sharp teeth; it was a male, Harry figured.
"I'm sorry for this," Harry said, kneeling down beside the body. Phoenixes could understand people, and Thunderbirds were supposed to be just as intelligent. "If there was anything that could have been done... She was too far gone. Now, at least, she's at peace."
The large bird crooned softly, and then its eyes moved up, gazing beyond Harry. Its cries became sharp and feverish again and a shock sparked between the horns on its feathered crown. It was angry, furious even, with the people that hid within their buildings, where they were relatively safe from the destruction wrought by the storms.
"I cannot excuse them for what they did," Harry explained after a while. "I didn't find out about this until today. I think it's best if you leave this place entirely, after today. I don't want to risk that they may catch another one o your kind.." He frowned. He had an idea. "Listen... There is a place, far west of here, across the great ocean. If you cross it, you will find a home, far more accepting for your kind; there you may survive for a long time."
The Thunderbird cried sharply, flapping its wings once. Two other birds swooped down from the skies at once, grabbing onto the body of the dead and vanishing off into the sky again before Harry could really react. The larger one looked at Harry with a look in its eyes that he couldn't identify, and then suddenly ducked its head in respect. As it did so, a single feather descended from its crown, landing by Harry's feet, completely undisturbed by the wind.
Harry picked it up, staring at it for a long moment. A Thunderbird feather. Even the existence of these was legendary in his own day. He couldn't think of a much more meaningful gift for a wizard, particularly one who wanted to get into crafting wands. This he would keep for something special, he resolved.
"Thank you," Harry said, and with a last piercing wail, the creature ascended into the sky once more with a booming sound of thunder as the clouds high above began to lose their energy, the static electricity finally dissipating. Harry just looked up for a while longer, hoping to catch another glimpse of the birds, ignoring the fact that he was getting utterly soaked in the rain.
Finally, when he knew they were gone, he turned towards the temple again. The head priest and his two colleagues stared at him with open mouths; Wosret didn't look much better. Mot cheered as Harry walked back towards them, catching up with him. He smiled at the boy for a moment, then stared at the head priest with sharp eyes. He knew why the man was so contrite, now – not only had he removed the way of creating the 'miracles' that they had been attributing to Ba'al Hadad, but he had also just spoken directly to a Thunderbird in plain view of quite a lot of people. If he were to speak out against them now, Harry's word would hit hard. Fortunately for the priest, he wasn't here for anything like that.
"Well," Harry said awkwardly. "I think I'll take those prisoners now."
THREE DAYS LATER - 3047 B.C.E.
"They've all been fed," Wosret said, and he frowned. "I don't understand how, but all sixteen have enough."
Harry smiled, He had been enlarging and duplicating food quite a bit, neatly circumventing some transfiguration law or another that Hermione had mentioned more than once; he forgot what it was called. Taking over a dozen prisoners along with their little group meant they were slow-going, but he could deal with that. They wouldn't be running out of water or food, at least, and most of the prisoners could pull their own weight. Within a week or two they would be back in Egypt.
"Just see it as a blessing," Harry said as he stood. He looked briefly at the glittering feather that he had put in his pack - it wouldn't let anyone else touch it; Wosret had found that out rather early. Most of the last few days had been spent getting everyone ready for travel; they were camped a dozen miles from the city, close to the place they had been when they first arrived, though no guards had yet come out to meet them. Harry had half a mind to do something nasty to the guards that had been chasing Mot, but he acknowledged that right now that would be counterproductive.
"There is something else that I must note. The child that you have brought along has taken to harassing everyone in the camp, including myself," Wosret said. "He is doubtlessly with the prisoners now. You are the only one he will listen to, so if you would speak to him?"
"Mot listens to me because I appeared when he was nearly killed," Harry said dryly as he fiddled with his collar. "Tell me, do you think that this sudden turn-around of the locals will be enough for the Pharaoh, when he finds out what these people were doing? Sacrifices to keep a creature alive that was far beyond saving? Creating their own weapon of war and a city around it? This whole thing must have been going on for years and years for it to be this large…"
"You should have truly burned down the whole place, as you threatened."
Harry shrugged. His mind kept wandering back to the moment he had found that Thunderbird, shackled and wounded in the basement. Blood sacrifice was used to keep it alive, to keep it in a constant state of deranged panic. There were no wizards to stop that sort of thing in this time, beyond him. Who was going to stand In the way of the next idiot who figured trying to control a dragon was a good idea? What would happen when someone scrounged up a Gorgon from somewhere and went on a rampage? He didn't know, but he thought it might be an important question, in the long run.
Harry wandered over to the prisoners, saying a few friendly words along the way to the shell-shocked but relieved people that he had found in the darkest of cells; some of them had lost toes to the cold, others barely said anything at all when asked anything, and generally turned away from conversation. Mot really was the well-adjusted of the group, and that was probably because of his age. None of the other children had survived. Mot had - but he suspected he already knew why.
He found the boy near the other side of camp, just keeping an eye on people as he leaned against a tree that had seen better times; most of its leaves had been ripped off by the latest storm, and Harry doubted it would survive for very long.
"Heru!' the boy said enthusiastically as he spotted the new arrival.
"Calm down, Mot," Harry said quickly, glancing aside. "Things have calmed down a little around here, it seems. They can take care of themselves for a bit, don't you think?" He flipped his wand out of his pocket and looked at it for a moment. "This is a good a moment as any, I suppose."
"What?"
Harry held out his Phoenix-feather wand, handle-first. "Hold this for a moment, would you?"
"This is..." Mot whispered, eyes wide. "I should not."
"Take it, Mot," Harry said again. "I need to know something."
After another moment of hesitation, Mot grabbed the wand very carefully - he looked it over with wide eyes, seemingly apprehensive that it might start acting on its own.
"Well, give it a wave," Harry motioned. Mot flicked the wand - Harry had only an instant to duck as a sudden blast of heat seared just over his head. Harry quickly grasped the boy's hand before he could do it again. "No, no, definitely not. But - that was pretty much what I expected."
Mot looked confused as Harry took his wand again, and sighed. "What...?"
"That, Mot, is what can happen when a wand doesn't match with its user." Harry smiled at his holly focus. "I imagine that even if you were the type to use holly and Phoenix-feather, this one might be a bit temperamental anyway. We sort of fit together." He looked up and smiled. "The wand chooses the wizard, you know."
"What does that mean?"
Harry smirked as he ruffled Mot's hair. "Well, I don't have any cake to give you, but I suppose you don't even know what that is, anyway. Truth is - you're a wizard."
"A what?"
"Magician, Sorcerer, Warlock, whatever you wish to call those who wield magic." Harry tapped his wand. "This here's a wand - if you've got one that fits you, it allows you to do all sorts of things quite easily. I'm sure you remember the little coin trick you did when those guards were chasing you, right? How did you think you did that?"
"The gods..." Mot said. "They saved me!"
Harry shrugged. "Some say that it's the power of the gods, yes. I suppose it depends on who you ask. I'm sure there are others like us, out there, but they're hard to track down." Harry frowned, looking away. "Perhaps I should change that. Anyway, back to point. I don't have a wand of your own for you - in fact, I don't have any other wands at all. When we get back to the capital, I'm going to try and figure something out."
"The capital? Surely you would not take me there?" Mot said. "I have no money to pay for such luxury."
"I do," Harry said easily. "There's a room not far from my own that's generally unused; I'm sure I can arrange something."
"In the palace!"
"Well, would I go for anything less for my apprentice?" Harry chuckled. He had finally found another wizard, if a young one. He had barely needed to think about what to do after they got back - he had already seen what Mot's accidental magic could do to people, and he had no idea if it would ever stop without any magical training. Perhaps he could help Mot step away from that and into a greater role, like he himself had taken on. He doubted the Queen would object to having yet another kid to dote on. An apprentice to the Advisor - the Pharaoh would probably be delighted at the idea of having more like him around Yes, that could work.
"Apprentice?" Mot's eyes shone in awe.
"We'll figure all that out when we get to Tjenu," Harry said, slipping his wand in his pocket. "Don't let your head swell too much, now."
The boy bowed as Harry walked away, and he sighed. When he started this little adventure, he hadn't expected to end up practically adopting a kid. HIs life had gotten very weird of late - if a good kind of weird. He didn't know what his life would have been like had he just stayed in the future, but he had begun to realize that there was a lot to gain here, too. He could really do good, actually help Muggle and wizard alike, and even magical creatures.
He would still punch Khnurn if he ever met the guy again. But he wondered if he had finally started to figure out what joy could be had, back here in the past.
A blood-trail stretched through the hall, meandering aimlessly before it went around a corner and vanished. The walls were spattered with it as well, and a single hand print stood out on the wall, as if someone had tried to catch themselves there and slipped.
"This... can't be happening!" Nebit exclaimed, his eyes filled with horror. "It was the dead of night - someone would have heard! What of the guards? Would they not have noticed the noise?"
"The guards have been killed," the Queen spoke slowly as she shook her head. "Beheaded before they could grasp their spears."
"Who? Who did this?" Nebit asked sharply, tears in his eyes. "Who took Ahaneith? Who took my sister?"
The Queen sighed as she shook her head. "I do not know. The culprits took advantage of her vulnerability after she left the Advisor's chambers. The moment that she crossed the threshold, they were upon her. She was stabbed, it seems, and attempted to escape. Whoever took her after that stopped the bleeding enough to prevent further blood loss."
"Why her? She's not even a noble! And from the palace?"
"Heru," the Queen concluded grimly. "I believe someone is using the Advisor's absence to manipulate him. He will wish to pursue this matter when he returns, and that will take him away from his other duties."
"To what end? He is not performing them now, either." Nebit shook his head, then faltered. "I do not mean any disrespect..."
"His protection upon the Pharaoh remains, even when he is far away. Should he die, however..." the Queen said softly. "Those who move against the royal house seek to remove its most capable protector, it seems. Perhaps they intend to usurp the throne."
Nebit frowned, shivering. "Heru is not due for months - but we know that he has travelled great distances at speed before. If I could reach him, bring him back here sooner, he could retrieve Ahaneith, and kill her kidnappers before they vanish again."
The Queen frowned. "How? Even the fastest rider would take many days to reach across great distances."
Nebit raised a small charm with a Phoenix feather hanging on the end of it. "I believe I know a way."
Author's Note: Hey again, hoped this chapter was a nice finish to what started last chapter, though Mot obviously comes along to the next chapters. Finding out what happened to Ahaneith, wand crafting, playing teacher to a wizard quite like himself when he was eleven, and time skips - those are all in the near future. Cheers. :)
Incidentally, the Thunderbird is a real mythological creature that I used here as an extinct species; Miranda Flairgold seems to have used the same creature in some of her stories as well. I'm pretty sure my interpretation (with traditional horns and teeth as distinctive features of one gender) is fairly unique. I believe with Phoenixes and the like in the same universe, these creatures are not beyond the realm of possibility, though they would have likely gone extinct as a result of both Muggle and Wizarding hunting as massive storms are not generally something people want to deal with, and wizards would love to get their hands on all the wonderful magical parts like they do with dragons and such as well. ;)
I will see you in a short while, and here's a little side thingy that's just for fun. An alternate result of Harry's descent to the lower levels of the temple. (Crossover with Stargate.)
OMAKE 1
Harry stepped across the threshold, his eyes wide. There, raised on a dais at the far side of the room, was the cause of all this chaos. The storm that raged through the room and to the sky originated from a device, four feet tall and covered in blinking lights. Long cables stretched from it to the far corners of the room where they connected to tall pillars with bright shining bands every few feet, angry sparks of lightning arcing between them. Three bodies were gathered around it, though they seemed long dead.
Just behind the device which was far too advanced to be the work of the priests, or any other civilization Harry knew of, was a gigantic metal ring, easily twenty feet tall. It was covered all around in strange hieroglyphs. The ring was spinning; the outer ring slowly rotated without any support, and Harry figured it was magical in some way. He approached carefully, his wand out, glancing between the electrical device and the ring. If the device was causing the storm, and it certainly seemed that way, then what was the ring for?
Harry shrugged as he quickly cut the connection between the central device and the four pillars, and they quickly stopped moving, their lights dimming. The machine itself took a moment to react before it too started to die down. Then it blazed to life again – and with renewed power, as a sharp whine escaped from its depths and red lights flashed angrily.
Harry quickly Silenced the machine as the whine became intolerably loud. As he did, the grinding of metal against metal became clear – and the fact that it was getting louder as well. The Ring had started to accelerate. "Oh, what did I do now?"
Lights flashed on the edge of the ring, clicking in place with a soft thud. The very room began shaking from the sudden activity, and he ring trembled as four, five, six lights went on. There was a brief silence, and Harry sighed in relief – then the ring exploded.
Harry could only just throw himself on the floor as a brilliant wave of blue-tinted energy blasted into the room vaporizing the machine before it utterly. After a moment it stopped and Harry got to his feet, breathing heavily. The ring was no longer just a ring – a blue surface covered the center of it, like an upright puddle with tiny waves.
"Definitely magical," Harry concluded. He stepped closer, frowning. "What did I do to make this happen? Maybe it just reacts to wizards, or magic?"
A man stepped out of the blue puddle without warning, clad entirely in armour, with a staff clasped in his hand. As the soldier immediately brought his weapon forward, Harry reacted instinctively. The staff went flying headlong back into the blue, the man quickly following it with an anguished cry. There was no sound of anything hitting the floor on the other side – the man was just gone.
"What the hell?"
Two more people stepped through the portal then, similarly dressed in heavy plated armour, a bright symbol draw on their forehead. Each of them had a shiny metal skullcap with small carvings of birds around the rim. Harry made sure to have his Protego cast as he backed away slowly, wondering what he was dealing with, now. These had to be wizards, if they were somehow travelling into a closed basement through the magical ring. He'd never seen machines like the one he'd stopped, though.
Whatever the men yelled at him, Harry couldn't understand it. It wasn't Egyptian, though it sounded vaguely similar. Harry backed further away as one of the men looked around in confusion, probably looking for the third of their number, while the other aimed his staff's head in Harry's direction. Before the two could do anything, more people stepped through the gate.
Wearing what seemed to be a massive golden mask of a falcon, a tall individual was the last to step through, flanked by one more guard that had far more intricate suit of armour covered in decorative carvings, and was carrying a wicked-looking staff with spikes at the end of it. The two stopped as they noticed Harry, and the former sniffed as he leaned on his staff.
"Jaffa, kree." The guards all aimed their staff weapons.
"Are you wizards?" Harry asked, hoping that they would have a better shot at understanding him than the other way around. "There's no need to shoot me."
The man in the middle stepped forward then, and his mask retracted, folding in on itself. A stern face appeared, studying Harry for a long moment. "Karrok, my First Prime, seize him." His voice was impossibly low, and when his eyes turned to Harry again, they flashed with light for just a moment. Harry quickly avoided some kind of fiery projectile that the guard, this Karrok, fired from his staff.
"Who are you?" Harry demanded. "What are you doing here?"
The man drew himself up to his full height, his eyes shining brightly now. "You dare to address your god in such a manner, mortal?"
"You're not a god," Harry scoffed. "I'm pretty sure they don't dress like you either."
The man shook his head, glancing at the others beside him. "Kill him."
They all fired as one. The staffs spit fire, and Harry's shield was only just strong enough to stop the blast, but the leader quickly raised his hand and they all stopped, much to Harry's relief.
"That technology – what is one of your kind doing with a Goa'uld force field device?" the supposed god said in surprise. "Who did you steal such a rare commodity from, I wonder?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry responded angrily. "Who are you supposed to be, 'god'?"
The man smiled deviously. "I am Heru the Elder, son of Ra and Hathor."
Harry blinked, and smiled. "Well... this is awkward..."