Hands of Fate

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

Terms to know:

Bes: God of fertility, motherhood, childbirth, music, and merriment.

Sekhmet: Goddess of chaos, war, healing, and medicine.

Wedjat: The Eye of Horus; symbolizes rebirth and protection.

"Seek to perform your duties to your highest ability, this way, your actions will be blameless."
-Muata Ashby, Ancient Egyptian Proverbs

~Thebes, 1308

Frowning in confusion, Imhotep turned the papyrus over and over in his hands. It didn't make any sense. The ancient words seemed to swim and change before his eyes, leaving his brain scrambled. The numerous layers of the papyrus led him to believe it was a spell of some kind. But for the life of him, he had no idea what it could pertain to.

He had found the scroll one day while cleaning out the Temple library. Shuffling through stacks and stacks of scrolls ready to be thrown out, he stumbled upon it. It sat unassumingly in the back of the bookcase, small and untouched. But an aura of danger radiated around its edges, drawing him to it. His hands had reached out of their own accord. His fingertips seemed to sizzle as he made contact with its linen edges. Jumping back in surprise, he had dropped it in shock. His mind screaming in danger, he reached for it again, unable to hold himself back. It felt as if something wanted him to read it. Imhotep had obliged, and for weeks now, he had been trying to decipher its code to no avail. He could not get it out of his mind; it felt important.

The Gods, he knew, often worked in mysterious ways. They would leave messages and riddles for him to uncover. Almost always convoluted and near impossible to solve. All Imhotep knew was that this scroll seemed to be written in an ancient language. One dating back further than even the first Pharaohs of Egypt. It was written in the tongue of a strange land, but parts of it felt familiar. Running his hands over his bald scalp, he sat back on his heels in frustration. How am I ever going to translate this?

He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. A headache throbbed in between his temples, making thinking difficult. Meditation should help, he thought. Imhotep took a few deep breaths and felt his whole body relax. As he ascended the barrier between his mind and the realm of the Gods, his mind felt crisp and clear. Inklings of words came to him, riddles on the tip of his tongue. As a sandstorm materialized in his mind, he could almost taste the metallic tang of blood. The grains of sand whipped his face, stinging as they passed by. Voices chanted in his ears, the words too distorted and chaotic to make out. Imhotep felt on the edge of his seat, trying to decipher them. They were reminiscent of the scroll. Ancient. Melodic. Gnarled. A vision of a Wedjat floated over the chaotic storm. Imhotep looked on, confused, as the eye blinked at him. A Wedjat? What could that mean? He mused.

A clearing of a throat from behind him startled Imhotep. The sandstorm collapsed, wiping away any chance he had of figuring out what the vision meant. Opening his eyes in annoyance, Imhotep was met with the heavy kohl-lined eyes of one of the Pharaoh's messengers. Imhotep scoffed. The make up the elite wore was ridiculous. He couldn't be bothered with it. Being a priest meant he bathed multiple times a day, and who had time to reapply their makeup each time? Imhotep forwent it.

The messenger peered around the alcove, wringing his hands together.

"Yes, what is it?" Imhotep inquired. The Wedjat still floating through his mind. He wanted whatever interaction they would have to be over as soon as possible.

The messenger bowed. "Priest Imhotep, Pharaoh Seti has requested your presence at the palace at once."

"Curious. Whatever for?" Imhotep asked.

"This is to be in the utmost confidence…" the messenger trailed off. "But Pharaoh Seti's wife has fallen ill. They have requested your skills at once."

Startled, Imhotep replied. "That is very strange. Surely the palace has its own healers?"

"They have all failed, my Lord. We have searched high and low for a cure but have found none. Pharaoh Seti believes you are his last hope."

Imhotep watched as the messenger twisted his hands, transfixed by the motion. The wheels in his head turned. He seldom had any reason to interact with the Pharaoh. Imhotep saw him occasionally for feasts and yearly rituals, but that was the extent of it. In fact, he had not spoken more than a dozen words to him since his initiation six years prior.

"What about the Priest at the Temple of Thoth? Have you inquired there?" Imhotep asked, confused as to why they wanted him. He was a regular priest, not a High Priest.

"Yes, and they have all failed. You must come quick." The messenger said, turning on his heel to leave, not waiting for an answer.

Imhotep sat still for a moment, looking after the messenger.

"Well, I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" He asked out loud, looking to the heavens at Osiris. "May you be with me." He muttered as he left his chambers, heading for the palace.

Apprehensive, Imhotep entered the palace doors, cringing as they slammed shut behind him. Each time he had come here, he was struck by the sheer grandiosity of the building. The potted palms now grew toward the ceiling as if they were reaching for the heavens. Golden light ignited the murals on the walls, making them sparkle with life. Massive statues of Seti's likeness flanked the stairs leading to the throne room. Boy, he's not compensating, is he? Imhotep scoffed as he ascended the steps.

Kher-heb had instilled in him that humility and compassion were the most essential virtues in a man's life. Men who overinflated their egos to rival the God's power were not to be trusted. Seti was known for his quick temper and his even quicker hand. He had upward of six or seven wives at this point in time. Imhotep wasn't even sure which wife was sick; they always seemed to be changing. Concubines and harems were procured for Seti at a moment's whim, growing in size each day. Many of the kingdom's military missions were secret plots to obtain more warm bodies, or so it was said. The Pharaoh's life of excess made him feel nauseous. But he was a servant to his king, so he kept his thoughts to himself most days.

The room grew dimmer as the sun began to set. The torches on the walls had yet to be lit, and Imhotep stumbled up the steps, tripping into the doors at the top. Embarrassed, he opened the doors to the throne room and slipped inside. The decadent room was plush and extravagant. It was alive with the sounds of sultry music which swirled around him, warming his senses. The royal musicians sat tucked away in a corner, surrounded by dancing girls. They twisted and contorted their bodies in a display of desire and pleasure. Their gauzy clothing flowed around them like water, leaving little to the imagination. His eyes widened; he looked away, flustered, his cheeks burning. Thankfully he saw Seti in the middle of the room and made his way over in a hurry.

Seti sat flanked by two guards on his golden throne. The Pharaoh had not seen him yet. He sat with a lascivious look on his face. His fingers lightly traced his crotch as he watched the girls dance. He doesn't seem too worried about his sick wife, Imhotep snorted.

Seti finally noticed him and straightened up in his seat, waving a hand to come forward. He still had a look of distracted desire in his eyes when Imhotep approached and bowed at his feet.

"Imhotep, my old friend, you have come to help your great Pharaoh in his time of need. How gracious of you." Seti addressed him. The dancing girls continued their twirling acrobatics behind them, making him feel disoriented.

Standing up, he made eye contact with the man before him. That familiar feeling shot through him, the one he had felt six years ago. It hung in the air, suspended, as the two men looked at each other. Black eyes met gold. The moment stopped time, before it was gone.

"Yes," Imhotep bowed again. "Priest Imhotep of the Temple of Osiris at your disposal." A funny feeling settled in his gut; it felt as if the hands of time were at play here.

Seti smiled at Imhotep, pleased with Imhotep's act of piety. Seriousness flooded Seti's eyes, and the distracted desire left them at once. A sheen of sweat broke out on the Pharaoh's forehead, and his servants hurried to wipe it away. Seti pushed them away, annoyed.

"I called upon you today for a crucial reason, Imhotep," Seti said, his eyes holding his. "My wife, Tua-Re, has fallen gravely ill. She is with child." His hands shook.

Imhotep stood straighter. His nerves flared. He trusts me enough to tend to the Queen? He must be desperate.

"There has been no hope with anyone else so far. You are my last chance. Pray you don't disappoint me as well." Seti's eyes were cold as he held Imhotep's gaze. "Can I trust that?"

Imhotep's mouth gaped open and closed for a moment, but he got a hold of himself. Standing even straighter, he bowed. "Yes, My Lord. You can trust me. I will do all that I can."

"Good," Seti said, flopping over the armrest of his chair. He snapped his fingers. "My Medjai here, Amenhemti, will take you to her."

A dark-skinned man stepped out from behind Seti's throne. Tattoos adorned his cheeks, stating that he was the protector of the Pharaoh. His youthful face beamed with pride. Smiling at Imhotep, he nodded at him.

Bowing once more to the Pharaoh, Imhotep looked into Seti's eyes. "I will do all that I can. I will not fail you." Imhotep held Seti's gaze, portraying that he could do this. Imhotep believed that he could. He had to try. Seti nodded and waved them away, turning to watch the dancing girls again, eyes glazing over.

He followed the Medjai from the room. The music swelled as the doors shut behind them, sealing his destiny.

Shaking with nerves, Imhotep was steered down numerous stone hallways. Disoriented, they finally reached the Queen's lavish chambers.

Amenhemti stopped outside of an alcove, nodding at Imhotep to enter. "I will stay here." The Medjai said awkwardly.

Pushing back the heavy golden curtain, the stench of sickness assaulted Imhotep's nostrils. Coughing against the stench, Imhotep looked to where the Queen lay on her decadent bed. Silks and linens were stained with sweat, and flecks of red spattered the pillow on which she lay. Blood. Imhotep froze. This is not good.

"My Lady, can you hear me? Imhotep implored. There was no answer.

Imhotep bit his lip in anxiety and moved closer to her, looking her over. Sucking in a breath, he balked at the sallowness of her skin. Her shallow breath came out in a raspy rattle. Sweat dripped from her forehead, running in rivulets from her temples to her neck. Swallowing loudly, Imhotep looked at her pregnant belly. His blood ran cold.

"Medjai. I need your assistance. Now!" Imhotep said in a commanding whisper.

Amenhemti came into the room, eyes wide. "I do not think I can be of any assistance," his eyes darted around the room, searching for an exit.

"Fetch me clean rags then!" Imhotep said.

Amenhemti bowed again and ran from the room, looking green.

Imhotep started unpacking the small satchel of herbs he carried with him. This disease plagued many pregnant women in the Temple's care, but he had never seen a case like this.

Making a mental checklist of his ingredients, he debated which herbs to use. Garlic, onion, frankincense, thyme, juniper, mint, caraway, camphor, cumin, aloe, fennel, cassia, opium, cannabis, honey, and silphium were all the herbs he had at his disposal.

He knew that the Queen's sickness stemmed from the bite of a bug all over the Nile River banks. She most likely had gotten bitten while on a walk along the banks. Imhotep swallowed, his throat closing. If the baby had not been already infected, it had a slim chance of survival. He had seen it happen too many times.

Getting out his mortar and pedestal, he began to mix a tincture of herbs. He threw in some opium as he went to help ease her pain. Looking over at her as he worked, he grew increasingly nervous. Her head moved to and fro in distress, and she moaned. She was fading fast. Drying off her forehead, he opened her mouth and gave her the medicine he had concocted. He hoped he knew what he was doing.

"Please, Gods, send me your strength," he whispered.

Taking a deep breath, he channeled the powers of the Gods, and he felt them there with him. Their fingertips became his own, his own beating heart now beat to the drum of the God's whim, and he began to chant:

O Sekhmet,
Goddess of Healing,
Use your ferocity and
Guide us towards salvation,
May our prayers be heard
May the sickness leave thy body
May thee be robust,
Health comes to thee,

O Bes,
Protector of Mothers,
Keep thee in your arms
For Safe Keeping
Allow the child of the sovereign king
To be birthed into the world
Protect her, almighty one.
We thank you.
We venerate you
And so it is.

As he spoke, a mysterious light emanated from Imhotep's fingertips. The green light seemed to spread throughout her body and into her womb. Lighting it up as if it were filled with sunshine.

Standing back, he was shaking from the sheer power that had poured from him. He had never felt that before. Looking down at his fingertips in wonder, he turned them over, looking at them as if he had never seen them before. He closed his eyes, exhaustion hitting him all of a sudden.

Opening his eyes after a few moments, he saw that the Queen seemed more at ease. Her breathing seemed deep and even, and she was no longer moaning in pain. There was not much he could do now but wait. Usually, this tincture took a few hours to work, but with the power of the Gods at his fingertips, maybe even less time.

Tired, he looked around the room for a place to rest his bones. Spotting a stool on the other side of the room, he sat it down next to the Queen, sitting vigil at her bedside. His eyes felt heavy, and they slipped closed.

As Imhotep felt the tendrils of sleep clawing at his consciousness, he heard a loud gasp. Sitting up immediately, he looked to the Queen. She was sitting straight up, clutching her stomach, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her hair was a wild mass around her head. Imhotep stared wide-eyed back at her, and he looked at the bed. Growing wetness seeped between her thighs, soaking through the damp sheets.

Panic ensnared him now, freezing him in his chair. Oh, Gods, I've never done a birth alone before! Please help me, Osiris!

The Queen turned to look at him, her eyes wild with pain. She tried to talk, but no words came out. Imhotep jumped up, knocking over his stool. Grabbing for his satchel, he rummaged through it for his blue lotus flower powder. Locating it, he tried to stay calm as his head spun.

Bowing very quickly, he spoke. "My Queen. I am Imhotep. Priest of the Temple of Osiris. I am here to help you." Hands shaking, he felt ridiculous wasting time with niceties.

The Queen's eyes searched his as she struggled to answer. "Please…call me Tua-re. Thank you…Imhotep." She croaked out, trying to lie back down. Whimpering in pain, she looked to him for help.

Rushing to her side, he gently laid her down.

"Here, this should help. It will ease the contractions." Imhotep said, handing her the vile of Blue Lotus powder mixed with moon water. Bringing it up to her lips, he helped her take a drink.

I have no idea what I am doing.

The Queen's whimpers died down minute after minute until she lay still, no longer in pain. Her body exhausted, she looked at him in gratitude.

Smiling at her, Imhotep sat next to her on his stool. Holding her hand, he prayed over her. The green light emanated from his fingers once more, filling her with the healing powers of the Gods. His mind was racing. Birth was dangerous in Egypt. Many women died each day, and Imhotep desperately did not want to fail her.

Hours passed by in this fashion, and Imhotep felt himself growing tired again. As the edges of the world started to go fuzzy, the Queen sat up in bed again. Screaming in pain, her wailing carried through the halls. Imhotep shot up. It was time.

Looking at the Queen in a panic, he realized that he was a commoner. He wasn't allowed to look under her covers. "My Lady, I need to look under the blankets. Do I have your permission?" He felt stupid.

Tua-re nodded, sweat pouring down her face; she wailed again. Imhotep lifted the sheet and saw that she had already crowned. The baby was on its way.

Hours later, a screaming baby girl entered the world, making her presence known. Imhotep cleaned her up and handed her to Tua-re. His mind was reeling from the events of the past few hours. He had done it! He had assisted in birth alone!

Mixing up some more herbs and pain tonic, Imhotep tended to Tua-re, ensuring she was taken care of as well. She smiled up at Imhotep, appreciation coloring her face.

"Thank you, Imhotep. You are a friend to the Queen and Pharaoh for life." There was a light in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

Imhotep startled. He had only done his duty; he had not expected such a warm reception, especially from royalty.

"Thank you, my Lady, it has been my honor," Imhotep said. They smiled at each other for a few more moments, and Imhotep guided the new baby girl to latch onto Tua-Re's breast.

"There we go… Make sure you take those herbs every six hours." Imhotep said. He felt on the spot, unsure of the praise he had received. He found it hard to make eye contact with her for too long.

A long, elegant finger hooked under his chin, turning his head. "Imhotep, call me Tua-re, please," Tua-re said, her eyes kind. "And I will take your herbs, do not worry. I already feel like a new woman!" She said, nuzzling her baby against her chest. "And this little lady needs a name, doesn't she?"

Imhotep nodded his agreement.

Tua-re smiled softly at the tiny baby latched on to her. "I think… I shall call her Nefertiri."