The Ritual

Amenhotep did not know if the seemingly endless, winding labyrinth underneath the palace had been built beneath it to suit the Pharaoh's sacred needs or if the palace had been built upon this place of magic and earth-bound divinity after. How old were these walls? These tunnels? These hidden away shrines and forges? Somewhere in the archives must be the answer, but he'd never wondered on the matter until now.

Would he still care enough to look after?

The Pharaoh's procession moved through the maze, guided by priests carrying torches, their murmured invocations echoing off the walls. Amenhotep and his father followed after, dressed in their best regalia. Thutmose wore the double crown, crook and flail in hand, and his son his own princely headdress, the protective uraeus reared back to strike all who would lay hands upon the heir.

Behind them came the royal guards, Ramose among them, and the highest ranking of the court sorcerers, Chief Sorcerer Meryamun and his second, Kirnut. Immediately behind them came a novice, his eyes cast down. While acknowledged members of their sect, the novices had yet to prove themselves and mostly worked as clerks and scribes to their superiors until they earned their way up the convoluted circles. Amenhotep assumed that was this novice's purpose, considering the satchel of writing tools he kept over his shoulder. Though...it was the all black attire that gave the prince pause.

The magic of priests and sorcerers intertwined and overlapped, but where a priest pulled his power from his god, a sorcerer often made due on their own, which meant they had to be known to themselves and whomever they were invoking quickly. As such, while they had their own uniformity in their sect based on rank and title, a certain level of individuality was expressed through color and embellishment.

For Kirnut, this was a lion motif sewn into his master magician's headdress. For Meryamun, Chief Sorcerer and a great uncle of Amenhotep, this was in the rich, royal purples of his robe and the amethyst upon his tall headdress clutched in the claws of a beautifully carved silver sphinx.

The novice, as was proper, only wore a circlet over a common head covering. An emerald was set into it, and two gold prongs jut down like fangs beside his eyes. Otherwise he wore a gold usekh collar and a long, sleeved cote in the style of the desert nomads. Amenhotep guessed he had ancestry there. Nothing else of note, save the color.

It was rude to ask a sorcerer what these choices meant to him, so the black could mean anything, but Amenhotep couldn't help but consider the obvious: a reverence for Anubis or even...he shuddered...Set. Or perhaps this novice had done something bad enough he had to show it for all to see.

But then he wouldn't have been brought here, to a sacred event attended by the Pharaoh and his son. The unworthy would not be given such an honor.

At the end of the procession, a few more priests brought up the rear. They carried scrolls and books, but no torches, trailing behind in the dark.

Amenhotep kept looking among them all, wondering who was his guardian. Ramose was most likely.

They arrived at the sacred forge, already lit and hot, and Pharaoh and son stopped in the center of the chamber. The others fanned out around them, guards and sorcerers, and the priests gathered around the forge. The sacred smith was already there, as well as the High Priest of Ra, Ahmose.

Despite the large opening through which they'd entered, the chamber was stifling with the heat of the forge, its flames making ancient paintings on the walls dance and twist. At first, Amenhotep thought they were rejoicing, but the longer he looked, the more the figures began to writhe in agony...in warning. He shivered despite the heat and looked away.

An altar stood before the forge, and at the beckon of Ahmose, a priestess stepped forward and placed upon it a tray of white alabaster, draped in silk, and upon that rested the four amulets. Formless, unused for ages, gems in meaningless lumps of gold, and yet they glittered unnaturally in the firelight.

Blue, red, purple, green. The gems were cut, triangular, an odd contrast to the undefined gold that housed them.

The High Priest stepped forward, facing the Pharaoh but his roaming eyes addressed all as he began his invocations, summoning the gods to this place, asking for the power and wisdom of Ra. Amenhotep had heard these prayers many times in his life and tried to pay attention, though his mind wandered, only to return when Ahmose dropped his arms and himself returned to the mortal realm.

"Oh great Pharaoh, incarnation of the gods' will, summon the guardian you have chosen."

Thutmose dipped his head in a slight nod and spoke, his voice strong over the roar of the flames, "Rath."

Rath? That's not a name.

And then Amenhotep's mouth dropped open as the black-clad novice stepped forward, faced his father, and lowered himself to a knee, arms crossed over his chest in submission. He looked up as Thutmose gestured with the crook for him to rise go to the priests, and Amenhotep now got a good look at his face.

"Father," he hissed as the magician turned away, his voice just under the sound of the forge that it didn't travel beyond the Pharaoh's ear, "what is this? That's your choice? He's a novice, and barely older than I am!"

Thutmose didn't answer aside from blazing eyes that settled upon his son. Amenhotep fell silent.

Ahmose bowed to the Pharaoh before continuing, "Normally, we priests would present the amulet to the guardian that suits him best, as told to us by the gods, but in this case there is only one guardian chosen, and the gods have been silent." His attention turned to the novice, "Step forward, Guardian, look upon the amulets. As a magician, you should know which one calls to you."

The young sorcerer, Rath, nodded and stepped close to the altar. He raised his left hand and let it hover over the amulets, eyes half-lidded, before he reached down and selected one, holding it delicately between his fingers, and trailed his thumb over the gem. He turned and held it out to the High Priest, who glanced at it with a nod.

"The verdant. Yes, the gods approve," Ahmose said, but did not take it from Rath's hand. "The color of life, of resurrection, of the goodness granted to us in this world and the next. Of growth…" he added, and his eyes flicked from Rath to Amenhotep and back.

The prince frowned and he wasn't even sure why.

"Now, Guardian," the High Priest intoned, raising a hand upwards, "you must speak to the sacred amulet your ren, for with your true name shall it know you, take on a new shape, and gift to you the power of the gods."

Now it was Rath's turn to frown as he looked around at the gathered people. Understandable, to give one's true name to someone was to surrender complete power over to another, and there were many here. Only a man and the gods may know his true name. The young man turned away from the priests and Pharaoh, moved to the wall by the forge, and turned his back to them as as he cupped the amulet close to his face and whispered to it.

And kept whispering. Amenhotep bit his lip to keep from sighing aloud in annoyance as the seconds passed to a minute. How long was this man's name?

Finally, Rath moved back to the altar and again held out the amulet to the priest. It seemed to shine brighter than before. The High Priest of Ra nodded in satisfaction and took the amulet, holding it up in the palm of his hand.

"Now, Rath, this amulet is a link between you and the power of the gods, to serve your oath in life and beyond if need be. Invoke the name of your patron now, to bestow their power into the amulet."

Despite the roar of the forge, it was suddenly silent as Rath tilted his head, seemed to think. His lips parted as though to speak, then shut, and then twisted into a smirk as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Whichever god I choose in the moment."

The eerie, now uncomfortable silence lingered and Ahmose's eyes flashed at the novice's casual tone, like he was pondering dinner.

The arrogance, Amenhotep fumed, here of all places, of all rites! To speak of the gods and their power so glibly, and at such a base rank, before the High Priest himself!

It was Kirnut who spoke, his soft voice nearly blending with that of the forge, "It is not required for the rite to choose a patron god, but watch your tone, novice," he stressed the title, "and remember to whom you speak."

Rath's smirk fell away and his arms returned to his side as he look over his shoulder at his superior, before turning and giving the High Priest a bowed head in apology. Ahmose did not look placated, but neither did he waste time on the matter further.

"So be it." At that, he approached the forge and extended the formless amulet to the smith. With a bow, the muscular man took it with a pair of tongs and thrust it into the bright embers of the forge.

Amenhotep swallowed as the heat increased and the air grew heavy. The priests began to chant, their hands synchronized in gestures, and the amulet glowed, the gold turning white and the green gem lit to brilliance. Too bright, the prince kept blinking as his eyes burned. But his father held fast, and so would he.

Drawing the amulet forth, the smith eyed it, squinting against its light, before laying it upon his anvil and tapping at it with a hammer where it was apparently unshapely to his trained eye.

Tapping only, and yet sparks flew from it. Golden, white, but also green, blue, purple and red, the connection to the others remained even as they had been removed. Then he plunged it into a trough of water and it hissed, and not in any way Amenhotep had ever heard metal cool. It was gold anyway, wasn't it? Too soft, such treatment was unnecessary…

The smith withdrew the amulet again, and it shone as though polished. He took it in hand and Amenhotep prepared for the cry of pain from its heat but there was none. He stepped forward and laid it upon the altar.

No longer formless, the green gem now glittered within the head of a snake, it's body sharply coiled beneath it.

"A serpent," Thutmose mused and turned his eyes to Rath, who regarded his Pharaoh in kind.

Amenhotep did not understand the look that passed between them, though it was Rath who looked away first.

A priest pulled forth a long leather thong which he handed to Ahmose, who in turned took the amulet and strung the cord through before turning and presenting it to the Pharaoh. Thutmose nodded and Amenhotep then had the amulet held out to him. He took the cord in each hand, the amulet dangling, glowing softly. It didn't weigh anything, and yet was somehow heavy.

"And now, Guardian, you swear your oath," Ahmose declared, and stepped aside.

Rath came forward and bowed to Thutmose before facing Amenhotep, and lowering himself to his knees before him.

"Rath," began the Pharaoh, his voice resounding around the cavern that even the forge knew to quiet itself, "behold my son, the prince and heir to my throne."

"I behold him," Rath answered.

"Behold Amenhotep, your charge. Swear that you will protect him always, will guard him with your life."

"My life is his. His life my purpose."

"Swear that you will guard him unto death, beyond it."

"May the gods grant me the power to fulfill my oath even should I fall."

"Swear your life to Amenhotep, until your oath be fulfilled or you are released from it."

"I am the Guardian of Prince Amenhotep, I swear to protect him with my life, my soul. All that I am I swear to him."

Thutmose then looked to his son, nodded. Amenhotep swallowed in the oppressive heat and lifted the cord holding the amulet over Rath's head and around his neck. There were words, and he'd read them beforehand, studied them, but it was too hot and the amulet suddenly very heavy. There was a whisper, barely heard before him.

Protect me always…

Rath was prompting him. So quickly, like Amenhotep had forgotten…!

"Protect me always, Guardian," he ground out between teeth, "that I may live to serve, that great Egypt may prosper, that the gods may rejoice. I hold you to this oath until it be fulfilled or I release you."

He let go of the cord, and the weight fell from his hands and onto Rath.

"Stand, Guardian," Ahmose intoned, "and face your charge. Know that while this duty bears heavy price, so too does it grant privilege. The Prince's life and safety are yours, and none may speak against you in such matters. You must serve your prince always, and so all places he may go, so too shall you. Nowhere shall be barred from you. It is a place of honor you hold, and so honor shall be given to you."

They stood eye to eye, Rath the same height as Amenhotep, and the prince noted the sorcerer's eyes were green. Green and sharp, like Rath was daring to look into him and finding him wanting. The slight curl of his lip confirmed it and Amenhotep felt a rush of anger.

His father made such a damn to-do about this whole guardian thing and then went and chose an arrogant novice of a wizard to protect him!

Rath looked away from him and turned, stepping to the side. The ritual wasn't done yet, the priests having to close the rite with prayers and calls of gratitude to Ra. Once concluded, the chamber felt cooler, the dancing light less threatening, even as the forge continued to burn.

The Pharaoh stepped forward and thanked the priests and sorcerers, accepted their bows, and wait for the torch-bearing guides to take the lead and bring them back to daylight. Amenhotep fell in beside him and Rath followed close behind.

Passing through the entryway, he glanced at Ramose, who was watching him with an unreadable expression, before those dark eyes snapped to Rath and narrowed.

Whatever Ramose was thinking about this new guardian, Amenhotep was sure he agreed.