Path of Destiny

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

Many of Imhotep's thoughts were memories that were foreign to him. It was another life, another time, another place, not here in this cavernous realm of hell. He seldom could remember his own name, who he had been, and what he had accomplished. The memories were presented before him in confusing montages. Occasionally he would get an inkling of his life prior to the suffering, and he would scream out. Was this to be his existence for the rest of eternity? And who was this mysterious woman that seemed to be so important to him? Her face brought feelings of deep passion and love, but why?

Screams echoed in his eardrums, and Imhotep tried to focus on anything else. The pain he felt threatened to pull him down into insanity. The girl's face in his mind was his only messiah in the darkness. Her name slipped in and out of his consciousness, taunting him. The demons would laugh in glee at his endless torment. It was a game of cat and mouse to them.

He succumbed to the dark forces around him as he suddenly remembered who he had been. Imhotep wanted nothing more than to savor the last glimmer of his humanity. With that, he allowed his memories to take over, throwing him into that world.

"Suffering in search of truth gives true meaning to the truth."
― Muata Ashby, Ancient Egyptian Proverbs

~Thebes, 1327BCE

Kher-heb sighed as he began to retire for the night. It had been a very long day in the Temple. Though he was not the high priest, he had many duties that fell to him on the days when he seemed to feel the most exhausted. It was almost as if the universe knew when his bones ached the most. It was on these days when he wanted nothing more than to rest his head on his straw mat. He had worked a day in and day out for the past twelve years. Most priests only worked every few months, going home to their towns, wives, and children. They only returned when duty called them. A brief pang of sadness went through his heart at the thought of those he had lost to the hands of time.

The pain radiated through his heart, pulling at its strings. A lone tear streaked down his face, and he wiped it away in a hurry. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he pulled up at this loincloth to no avail. His stout frame kept the fabric from going over his ample stomach. The leopard skin draped over his shoulder slipped down, and he readjusted it. He felt the weariness reach his bones, making them stiff. Sighing, he rubbed his oiled scalp and continued to putter around the Temple. All he could think of was his comfortable bed waiting for him in the rooms beyond.

Try as he might, he could not shake the aching of his heart. His loneliness had built up walls around his heart, sealing everyone out. Not a soul knew of his daily torment. They saw him as the eccentric priest who never went home. Little did they know, he longed for human connection. To feel a hand hold his own with love. But all that was behind him, and he was sure it would never come again.

The throbbing of his tender heart increased, and he huffed into the growing gloom. He had his important duties to keep him busy. It should be enough. He had become a teacher to each of the young acolytes whose fathers wanted their boys to become priests. It was a noble profession, and he was proud of it. He thought then of his own son…no he would not go there. Extinguishing the candles on the temple walls, he was lost in his thoughts.

The boys he had the pleasure of training to become nobles and priests considered him a hardass. Kher-heb was not known for his softness or understanding. He believed in the power of hard work and dedication. Perfection and order would follow. The traits that he strove for in himself. His duty to the great God, Osiris, was of utmost importance. It was his life's work. At least it distracted him from his pain.

The Temple he currently resided in was a place of worship for the God of the Dead. Here, he and his fellow priests would bathe, clothe, and feed the statue of Osiris each morning. And every night, put him to bed. Osiris was, after all, just as alive as he was. The Gods' powers seeped into everything. Osiris was the original Pharaoh, and when he died, he was resurrected, becoming the God of Death. In life, he had been brilliant, witty, and charismatic. In death, he was transmutative, potent, and all-knowing. A perfect combination, one that Kher-heb wished to uphold and pass on to his students.

Stumbling a bit on a piece of loose stone, Kher-hebs back ached to be rested. He sighed wearily once more. He picked up a candle and walked to the far edge of the room. The rest of the Temple was dim now, and he was the only one awake. The only one doing any work around here, he thought. Yawning, he extinguished the rest of the torches on the walls, and the cavernous room became inky. The darkness settled into the cracks and crevices around him. Faint splashes of color could be seen on the walls. He thought of curling up on his mat with his pillow and blanket, and his head grew dizzy with tiredness.

The sound of footsteps hitting stone broke him from his reverie. The sound echoed throughout the cavern, breaking through the silent gloom. Cooing reached his ears, and Kher-heb stopped walking, his ears perked, confused. I'm hearing things, that's all. It is time for bed…he thought, resuming his duties.

A piercing wail broke the silence. Kher-heb jumped, dropping the small figurine he had been holding. Hobbling as fast as he could toward the Temple entrance, he rubbed his lower back, hoping it would stop its aching. The small candle he held did not offer much light, but luckily the moon was full tonight. Reaching the Temple steps, he searched to and fro for the source of the noise, not seeing anything. About to give up, he noticed a crude basket left at the bottom of the steps.

Making his way down carefully, the cooing reached his ears again. Holding his puny candle, he held it up just enough to see the baby's tiny face. It struggled beneath a mass of thin linen blankets. Its petite mouth opened and closed in frustration. Another piercing wail assaulted his eardrums, and he grimaced. A child? Here? Who would leave a baby here?

"Come now, child, shhh, shhh, it will be okay," Kher-heb whispered.

He set down his candle on the floor. The moon offered more light anyhow. Picking up the tiny baby, he cradled it to his chest. He searched within the blankets for any indication of a name or a note. But he found none. Children were often left at the palace as offerings to the Pharaoh, but none were ever left at the Temple. He frowned again. Strange. Well, at the very least, the child is a boy. That bore well for the child's future at the Temple. But he could tell the child was hungry by how he fussed about it. His little head turned from side to side in an effort to be fed. Kher-heb knew no pregnant women or recent mothers nearby to feed the child. He cradled the boy to his chest a bit firmer to ward off some of the chills from the night air. From that, the boy seemed to take comfort and settled down, his face bathed in moonlight, serene.

Standing up from where he had been kneeling over the useless basket, his back continued to ache. Still, he softly held the child to his chest in the same comforting manner. He couldn't grab his candle, but he knew his way through the Temple easily enough. Without his cane, though, it would be slow going.

Finally reaching his chambers for the night, he found a spare pillow made of linen. He placed the petite babe on the makeshift bed, hoping the boy would be silent for the night. There was not much he could do in terms of feeding, and he felt a pang of guilt go through him. He laid down on his mat on the cool stone floor, his face turned towards the baby. He could hear the baby's soft breaths of sleep, and he breathed a sigh of relief. This baby is so peaceful, he thought. You'd think he'd be making more of a ruckus for being abandoned.

Kher-heb drifted off to sleep, dreaming of names for the little boy. He had wanted his own children, but his wife had died in childbirth many years before. His heart ached again at the thought of it, but as he drifted off to sleep, he felt a glimmer of hope blossom in his chest. He felt at peace for once in many years. A name appeared in his mind—He Who Comes In Peace, Imhotep.

1312BCE

Imhotep held his head high as he walked through the Temple halls. Today was the day of his first ceremonial haircut. The day he would become a man and a real priest. He was already far ahead of many other boys in priest training. Kher-heb, his father, had gotten him into scribe school when he was just a boy. It put him lightyears ahead of many of the commoners. Kher-heb had also pushed him to pursue architecture and healing. Imhotep had a natural aptitude for both.

He held his head high against those who mocked him for who his father was. They said Kher-heb was an old, bent-out-of-shape man with no heart. But Imhotep knew better. Kher-heb had the biggest heart out of any of them, but he was a hard taskmaster, a trait he had passed onto Imhotep. None knew that Imhotep was a foundling. Kher-heb had kept that a secret. Simply stating that Imhotep was a long-lost child whom he had not known of. But it seemed many of the other priests had their suspicions. They always looked at Imhotep as if he was a traitor in their midst. Somedays, it was hard to keep his cool, but he had learned to tune them out.

At fifteen, Imhotep was already full of self-confidence. Though most of it wasn't real, he tried his best to appear put together. It was the best way to tame the swirling emotions he felt inside. Imhotep's inner world was rich and diverse, but showing those emotions to others terrified him. For as long as he could remember, he had felt darkness inside, something potent and powerful. It pulled down at his soul. His heart would often override it, covering up the wickedness within. It was what had drawn him to Osiris in the first place. Now all Imhotep wanted to do was do right by the God. He could not afford to mess up.

Swallowing, Imhotep knew that this morning would be the beginning of his new life. He would move from the boy's dormitories to the common room where all the priests slept. The nervousness threatened to leech out of him. His eyes twitched as he walked with Kher-heb, making their slow ascent to the palace.

It was still early morning when he finally descended the steps of the great Temple. He felt the cool grains of sand on his bare feet. Imhotep looked at the pink sky as Ra made his great journey over the sky. Ra brought the sun, the bringer of life, into another day in the Nile Valley. He watched as a group of birds flew over the slow-flowing waters of the Nile. The palm trees appeared as silhouettes on the rising horizon.

Rubbing his arms to ward off some of the early morning chill, he tried to calm himself. Imhotep was exceedingly nervous; his usual mask of self-confidence was slipping. He seldom left the Temple's sanctuary, preferring to study in the shade of the sacred gardens. Today he was to go to the palace. He had been there quite a few times, and he felt as if all eyes were on him each time.

Kher-heb walked beside him, a stern look on his wrinkled face. The man was not yet forty-five, but the pain of losing his wife and child had put years onto his visage. Imhotep knew this, for he knew the real Kher-heb. He was a strong, resilient man with the heart of a saint and the depth of love to match it.

Kher-hebs face was an inscrutable mask of concentration as he limped beside him. The other boys had left early to go to the palace. They had all sprang from their beds on the floor, excitement shining on their youthful faces. Imhotep had been more cautious, he, too, was excited, but he felt more nervous than anything else. Not that he'd tell them that.

"You should be proud of yourself today, Imhotep," Kher-heb said beside him, his voice a bit gruff as he maneuvered his cane across the rocky path. "This is a great honor to become a man, especially today by our new Pharoah."

If he had to wager a guess, the new Pharaoh was a young boy around his age, sixteen or seventeen. His father, Ramses I, had died suddenly, leaving the throne to his inexperienced son.

"Sure it is…but I am worried." Imhotep responded. His mask of self-confidence was slipping once again. His breath came out as mist in the chilly morning air as he walked next to Kher-heb.

"Why? You have made the right of passage. For today you become a man! And a true priest. You are already very advanced, my boy. There is nothing new to worry about. All it is... is a new title."

Imhotep chewed his lip. "It's just that…sometimes I worry that I am not worthy of this. I wasn't born into nobility…." he trailed off, his eyes on the ground as they wound their way up the steep rocky path that led to the palace. The incline was sharp and jagged; he worried about Kher-heb making the trek. A cane suddenly blocked his foot's journey.

"Don't you ever say that! You were born for greatness! After all, you are my son. That's all there is to say about it." Kher-heb said, his eyes flashing with anger, the cane still blocking Imhotep's path. "You are my son." He said again, his eyes hardening.

Imhotep looked away, embarrassed that he had shown his emotions. "You're right," he sighed, "Thank you…father."

Kher-heb allowed them to walk again, his eyes still trained on Imhotep's. But Imhotep's eyes were trained on the ground, avoiding eye contact. Finally, he looked up and saw they were at the palace's steps. The priests in the Temple had a secret winding path that civilians did not know of. It allowed a direct route to the palace so the Pharaoh could come for worship and guidance.

Imhotep saw the palace guards and squared his shoulders. His eyes were straight ahead, all traces of nervousness gone from his face. Only a trained eye would be able to see the fear in his eyes. He swallowed hard as he began to ascend the steps. Once they reached the top, Kher-heb was breathing harshly. He leaned harder on his cane for support.

"Let's rest for a minute," Imhotep suggested, worry coloring his tone. The mask of false prestige slipped for a moment in front of the guards, who eyed them with slight annoyance. Kher-heb waved him off as he coughed, trying to catch his breath in the harsh morning air. The chill had begun to wear off as the desert air began warming up, bringing a feeling of aridity.

"No, I am fine," Kher-heb said again, another slight cough emitting from him. He straightened up, slow and stiff, leading the way into the vast palace entrance.

The palace itself was glorious. Colored tiles decorated the floors. Each with a painted scene depicting the greatness of the Pharaohs and the Gods. Columns stood on all sides of the cavernous entrance, bright hieroglyphs adorning them. Palm trees in pots led up a grand staircase to the golden doors. More stairs, Imhotep thought, oh no. He did not risk offending his mentor but took his time. The Pharoah could wait.

Finally, they reached the golden doors. Imhotep swung them open, swallowing back his fear. The room he entered was full of people, all high officials. They all turned to look at them as they entered, haughty looks upon most of their dull faces. Imhotep swallowed. Direct ahead sat a fresh-faced boy with the crown of Upper and Lower Egypt on his head. The false beard looked funny on the boy's face, too big and heavy for a boy as slight as he. The other boys with whom he shared a dormitory had already been anointed by the high priest. They sat, snickering as he and his aging father entered the hall.

"You have finally come at last," the Pharaoh spoke, trying to seem authoritative. Imhotep could hear a slight tremor in his voice. "We've been waiting long enough."

Imhotep raised his chin, a look of haughty indifference settling on his features. He made eye contact with the young ruler, challenging him. Nonetheless, he walked towards the other boy, respectfully bowing at his feet.

"Yes, Imhotep, Priest of the Temple of Osiris." He stated. His golden eyes were proud.

"You are not a priest yet," Seti stated. "Nevertheless, come forth."

Imhotep stepped closer to the Pharaoh, seeing now that the young boy seemed to be on the verge of tears. He's as nervous as I am, he thought. He felt a flash of pity go through him.

The high priest of Osiris stepped forward, anointing Imhotep's forehead with oils of Frankincense and Myrrh. He burned incense of Kyphri and Lotus around his body. The smoke billowed about, merging with the air. Imhotep inhaled, feeling the sacredness of the act fill him. The high priest stepped back, and his kind eyes crinkled in a smile. He nodded at Imhotep to join the other boys in line.

Standing there, apprehension permeated his being. He watched the boys he had grown up with become men before his eyes. His breath was coming out in harsh gasps as he was called forward. Gulping, the fear turned to excitement as he felt the ceremonial knife glide across his skin. His ponytail of boyhood was lopped off, leaving him with the head of a man. The weightlessness of his head seemed foreign and freeing all at once. Gliding his fingers across his skull, he found it to be smooth. The oil stained his fingertips as he pulled back, looking at it in wonder.

He was vibrating with joy as he went to kneel next to his brothers. The Pharaoh was talking, but he did not hear any words spoken. He was a man now! A real priest! He giddily sent up a prayer of thankfulness to Osiris.

The rest of the night passed by in a blur. A feast was held in honor of the newest members of the Temple. Beer and wine were passed around without abandon. Imhotep began to feel intoxicated early on, the room spinning. The joy he felt threatened to overcome his senses. Meats of the highest quality found their way to his plate. Staring down at them in wonder, he was hesitant to try them. He had only ever eaten a plant-based diet in his time as an acolyte. His head foggy and mouth-watering, he gave in. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted in his life.

Pomegranates, dates, figs, melons, and berries were piled high on golden platters. Imhotep ate with his eyes, not even stopping for a moment. He was in heaven. Pharaoh Seti seemed to lighten up as the night went on. The young boy's face relaxed as he got more comfortable in his role. Smiling and laughing in merriment, Seti became the life of the party.

Flashing Imhotep a smile, Seti made eye contact with him. Imhotep stared back for a moment until a goofy smile settled on his face. A tingle in the air signified something momentous, but what, Imhotep did not know. Shivering against the strange feeling, the moment was gone. Seti looked away, turning to make conversation with someone else. Imhotep was left with his own thoughts. Maybe Egypt is in good hands with this new Pharaoh after all. Shaking his head, he allowed the coziness of the occasion to warm his soul. With the fruits and beer surrounding him, Imhotep allowed the moment to take him.

The memories swirled around Imhotep, making him feel like a foreigner in his own life. He knew these memories were somehow his, but they didn't feel tangible, real. They were nothing remarkable, for he had been an unremarkable man. Sometimes, the memories would rip him to shreds, leaving him feeling raw and exposed. And in those moments, he knew they were his own.

Memories of the man he called his father, Kher-heb, struck him the most. The priest had taken him in as his own son, selfless in his love for Imhotep. And all Imhotep had done to repay him was lead him to his demise. This is how I thank him? The thought felt contorted as his pained mind struggled to form coherent thoughts.

He recalled their last moments together. Kher-hebs's face had twisted into a mask of disbelief when he realized Imhotep's stupidity had led him to his demise. The love and fierce loyalty never left, but there was a look of betrayal underneath it all. It was all Imhotep could replay in his mind as he hung there in his torment. He had stuck by him as Imhotep performed the forbidden ritual from the Black Book of the Dead. His lips had formed the words "I forgive you" as he was shackled to the place where he would be mummified alive. Imhotep screamed and writhed as the defeated eyes of his father bore into his own in his mind. They haunted him. He forgave me? When I so utterly betrayed him?

In his agony, another face haunted him. It was not of his father or of the beautiful girl. There was another face that was proud, arrogant, and egotistical. Seti. That burning anger bubbled up inside Imhotep's chest, and he screamed a primal scream of rage. The demons shrunk back from him, nervous. They wrung their hands together, waiting to see what he would do next. Imhotep seethed. His body was no longer on fire but almost truly alive.

The new part of him, the Hom-Dai, struggled to break free from the confines of Imhotep's mind. It wanted maximum power. But a small voice in the back of his mind whispered, But you used to be such good friends. The part of Imhotep that was still in control fought to stay sane. The human part of him felt the pain of betrayal in his heart once more. Guilt settled over him like a wet blanket. The rage in his heart fizzled out, one cell at a time, making him feel drained of energy and lifeless once more. At that, the demons seemed to sense a change in him. They returned to their relentless torture, taking glee in seeing him lose his power. Imhotep hung his head, suspended in his fiery pit of torment. It was hopeless. The memories came yet again.

A/N: Comments and reviews are appreciated!