Staying the Suneater

Notes: While I do some research on Ancient Egypt and its mythology, a lot of it will be kept to loose accuracy like the show with some simplification, such as using the pharaohs' throne names as their personal names and contemporary age considerations. Some dark subjects will be brought up but overall I want to try to keep this within the spirit of the show. Rating and warnings may change, however, because as we know, stories can get away from us sometimes.

Prologue

The boy who would be Scarab dipped his reed pen in ink and quickly scrawled in shorthand across the papyrus, occasionally glancing up at the two men whom he was transcribing. Speed was the key here, not appearance, and anything of note would be rewritten and added to the official records later, though even these quickly made writings would be put away for future use if necessary.

Master Magician Hori had returned from his missions and had requested a personal audience with the Pharaoh. A loyal and favored man of the court, as well as an old friend of Pharaoh Thutmose, Hori was granted his audience and the two retired to the Pharaoh's private office.

Scarab couldn't help the swell within his chest when Thutmose gestured for him among his several personal scribes to follow. The prestige and trust shown in the choice was enough, but what flavored this even sweeter was Scarab's exclusive access to this private conversation. Oh, the record would be kept for others to read, of course, but Scarab would hear the conversation directly, would know the inflection of tone and movement, all the little pieces to put to a bigger picture for his use.

A good birth and skill had gotten him where he was at his young age, and cleverness and understanding the game would ascend him higher. Never discard a possible advantage.

There was a lull in the conversation and Scarab quickly glanced over his record. The day, the hour, under the auspicious rule of Pharaoh Thutmose, comes Master Magician Hori of Abydos to petition on behalf of a rogue wizard plaguing the lower districts of the capital.

That was sure...something.

Magic, or the true power of magic as used by sorcerers, was only for the elite, those of proper blood and formally educated. All magicians of such caliber were then tied to the temples and court, bound by Pharaoh's whim, he himself a magician of considerable talent. Magic was not for the peasantry, who had not the education nor the mental capacity thereof, and so for the safety of themselves, others, and to maintain order, sorcery was forbidden them. Still, now and again some upstart thought themselves capable and managed to learn a few spells and then would inevitably terrorize the populace.

Master Hori and a few other magicians like him were duty bound to track down these rogues and assess them, oftentimes requiring an impromptu execution in the Pharaoh's name as these fools would think themselves able of fighting back. Sometimes they surrendered and would gain a trial, though the results were more often than not the same. Magic was too dangerous in the hands of the lowborn.

And yet here was Hori, his assessment being a beg for clemency.

Scarab dipped his reed pen and continued as discussion picked up again.

"So the boy shows skill is what this is? Enough to impress you, anyhow," Pharaoh Thutmose mused, arms crossed. He was an imposing figure, his speech bold but practiced, and yet despite the weight of the conversation his tone was one of a chat with an old friend, lacking grandiose posing or dramatic declaration.

Hori, on the other hand, was built as a man who enjoyed his life of privilege. His eyes were cunning, yet his body a tad wide, his magic doing the heavy lifting when out in the field. His tone was imploring, but not desperate. He too spoke as to an old friend.

"Skill isn't what I am speaking of, here, though he does show promise. My lord, you are as good a magician as any of us, so I know you understand what I mean when I say that it's his comprehension that impresses. His skills are untrained, subpar, but his understanding, his rapport with Heka, is better than any I have seen of his age."

"Explain."

Hori sighed, thought a moment. "There is a curse on his arm, and from looking at it, I ascertained that it is designed to kill its bearer within half a year at most. A slow death, as it spreads. He gained it near two years ago, and has held it by way of a magic ward he constructed. It continues to spread, but he has contained it to his arm for now.

"This ward is some of the shoddiest spellwork I have ever seen. The boy can only write a little, and he invokes only partially pertinent gods, and the charms and sigils he attached are no better. And yet it's working. He doesn't know spellcraft because he hasn't been trained for it, and yet his understanding is so precise that he took what he knew as a foundation and built from it. To us, it's amateur, and yet, technically, it does follow all the rules Heka bids, and so he answered, and effectively.

"Imagine, Thutmose, what this boy could do if he was trained. If he did know the art properly."

Scarab couldn't help but frown. Such high praise...and for a peasant.

Thutmose turned and paced a little, taking in the magician's words. "I hear you, Hori, but then we come to the crime itself. He shouldn't have learned this level of comprehension in the first place, it's forbidden for a reason."

"I know, my lord, and I do not argue your wisdom. Were this another case of a commoner breaking your laws for their own gain, I would not be here. But the fact is that it was one of our own who did this, who willfully disobeyed you and made this boy his student and then when he realized what he'd done, discarded him."

That brought the Pharaoh to a pause. "Which begs the question: who was his master? More than that," he eyed Hori, "I sense there is more to this than what you say."

Master Hori bowed to Thutmose from the waist. "Yes, my lord, I admit it. This is information I give in the face of possible wagging tongues, but to you alone I offer the truth."

Thutmose narrowed his eyes and then nodded. He looked to Scarab, "This will be off the record. Wait outside."

Scarab schooled his face to hide his annoyed surprise. He wanted to hear the rest! But instead he bowed, set aside his tools, and stood, making his way to the side door that would put him out into the hall instead of the audience chamber so none would see him being put aside. Once the door shut, he grumbled to himself and turned to look out over the shining city.

And near jumped. Squatting on the floor against the wall was a boy about his own age, maybe a bit younger. He glanced up at Scarab only briefly before he returned to staring ahead at the opposite wall.

Scarab's lip curled. One glance and he knew this boy did not belong here. Sun-darkened skin over a form built even at this young age like a laborer, despite its leanness. His hair was unkempt, his kilt worn and fraying. A satchel in similar condition was slung over his shoulder. He wore nothing else, save a wrapped mess of linen strips and leather cords around his right forearm, wooden charms tied to it. Blackened, sickening lines and swirls emerged from beneath it, marring the skin and spreading onto arthritically curled fingers that spasmed and twitched at random. Scarab stared; undoubtedly the magic ward and curse Hori had just been talking about.

This was the rogue wizard? Indeed, Thutmose and Hori had referred to him as a boy but Scarab hadn't considered that literally! But this peasant was even younger than he was! This was what had earned such high praise from Master Magician Hori?

"You," he commanded, looming over the rogue, because in this position he could, "what are you doing here?" Why aren't you in a cell? Or a refuse heap?

The boy turned his head slowly and again looked up at him. His sunken eyes were green, and simultaneously too bright and dead. "Waiting…?" he said slowly, as though Scarab were an idiot for asking such a thing.

Scarab bristled, lips pulling back to show teeth. What arrogance to speak to him, a scribe of the Pharaoh, in such a manner! "You don't belong here," he seethed, "Go find a guard to put you somewhere more befitting one like you!"

The rogue stared at him a few seconds too long, eyes tired, before returning his gaze to the wall with the simple statement of, "I was told to wait here."

Scarab's lip and eye twitched. He couldn't overrule a command by Hori, yes, but the fact this peasant wouldn't know that but still ignored him was infuriating. "Still," he began, his voice calmer, nothing but reason, "it's best if you wait somewhere that isn't right outside the great Pharaoh's office. What would someone think if they came by? Perhaps you should…"

"Who are you, again?" the boy sighed, not even bothering to look at Scarab this time.

Scarab gaped, and then his face darkened, power blooming at his fingertips. He was Scarab, a son of sorcerers of several generations and power boasted within him. Oh, he'd show this rat of lower Thebes what a real wizard was like…

"Khuy?" Hori called as he pushed open the door.

Scarab stepped back out of the way, barely looked at as Hori shut the door behind him and stepped out into the hall. The Pharaoh wasn't with him.

The rogue stood, seemingly uncoiling himself. He regarded Hori with those sunken eyes, frightened. "Well?"

Hori smiled and held open him arms, "Always remember the mercy of Pharaoh Thutmose."

The boy, Khuy apparently, let out a sharp breath of relief, shook a little, "So I'm not…?"

"No, you will live," gently, slowly, Hori put his hands on the boy's shoulders, "More than that, you have been granted leave for admittance into the temple. There you will earn your education as any young man of high standing. However…"

Khuy was breathing heavily, but swallowed, took a breath at Master Hori's tone, "The price?"

Hori eyed him. "Know that the Pharaoh has not pardoned you for your crimes, but has, instead, removed them entirely. As of his decree, they no longer exist, but that means that Khuy no longer exists. In this moment you are reborn, you are no longer Khuy."

Scarab, moving back to the door and forgotten, crossed his arms, watching.

The boy now-no-longer-Khuy stared. "I...just like that…? I'm…"

"You are no longer what you were, in this, you may enter the temple, be educated, and should you choose, become the sorcerer I believe you were meant to be." He pat the boy on the shoulder and stepped back, "Oh don't look like that, it's just official phrasing. You are who you are, but let's start small. You'll need a new name."

Hori began to walk down the hall, the rogue padding after him. "New name? But I…"

"It's fine, believe me. Take advantage of the fact you get to pick it this time!"

Scarab jumped as the door opened and the Pharaoh stepped out. He backed away, bowed and then turned like he wasn't paying attention to any of this. Thutmose only glanced at him before looking down the hall.

"Hori! Bring him here."

Master Hori nodded and began to make his way back, only to turn to his frozen ward and beckon him forward. "Come," he encouraged.

The boy followed, eyes wide as he was brought before the Pharaoh, favored of the gods, ruler of all. Once a few mere steps from him, the rogue dropped to his knees and prostrated himself.

Good, thought Scarab, at least even this scrounger understood who was before him.

Thutmose regarded the boy, then commanded, "Stand."

He did, but kept his eyes averted.

"Look at me."

Slowly, the rogue looked into the face of the Pharaoh, visibly trembling.

It was a long moment the Pharaoh gazed at him, his eyes seemingly seeking something within the green ones before him. He tapped a finger to his lips, eyes shut, as though listening. Finally, he said, "Rath. Yes, you look like a Rath."

The boy blanched and his mouth dropped open, otherwise he didn't react for too long.

"Well?" the Pharaoh's voice cracked like a whip, snapping him out of his fugue, "Who are you?"

Eyes wide, the boy bowed from the waist, arms crossed over his chest in submission.

"I am Rath…the eternally grateful."

Thutmose arched an eyebrow at that, a slight twist of a smile to his mouth. "We shall see." He then turned his attention to Hori, "Clean him up, feed him, and do something about that arm. He'll need both his hands."

"My lord," Hori bowed alongside his new pet project and both stayed bent at the waist as the Pharaoh moved back to his office. He beckoned Scarab to follow and vanished beyond the door.

Ever dutiful, Scarab did follow, then paused at the threshold.

The boy...Rath...straightened, then leaned against the wall, shaking and overwrought. Hori placed his hand on his shoulder, ignored the flinch, and gave it a brief, consoling rub.

"There, it's going to be alright now," he said, voice soft, "You're alright."

Scarab curled his lip and rolled his eyes at the undeserved affection being displayed.

Hori lowered his hand, "Come on, then. You look like you've seen a phantasm."

"I think I did…" Rath said, pushing off the wall with a deep breath, "Rath...that's what the great serpent out in the desert told me, I didn't know what he meant…"

Hori frowned at that, and so did Scarab. "The Pharaoh is the representation of the gods' will upon this realm, he sees more of the greater picture of the universe than we. Just more to suggest that you were meant to be here. Come, I'd like to deal with that arm first. Your ward is effective, considering, but it's not holding anymore. I hope to stay and eventually get that curse to recede some, but for the moment I can at least do something about the pain," the Master Magician continued even as he turned and walked down the hall. Rath followed.

"It doesn't bother me…"

Well, wasn't this lovely, Scarab thought as he watched them leave, a low-born scrounger alongside him at the temple, as an equal. Most likely his birth would be his downfall and he'd fail and meet an appropriate end, or…

Or the mystery of it all would make him the temple's next sorcerous darling. Ugh.

A sharp clearing of a Pharaoh's throat from within the office caught Scarab's attention and he hurried inside to gather his tools. Back to work.

Still, this wasn't a complete disappointment. This Khuy and his past was, by Pharaoh's decree, erased, never to have existed. And yet Scarab knew. Was the only one who would know as Thutmose told him to destroy the record he'd scrawled and swore the event to secrecy. And he would, for now, ever loyal, ever trustworthy.

Fools made their way through easily discovered lies and idiots betrayed too early. Not Scarab. His care would be genuine, his loyalty true...until what he wanted was at last in reach.

If he had to suffer a literally cursed peasant with delusions of grandeur in the meantime...fine. It would be all the more amusing when he finally fell.