Chapter 2 – Morning Ritual
“Osiris!”
Iris appeared just outside the first pylon; a goddess was never forced to walk down the processional avenue reserved for lesser beings. She glared at the two obelisks flanking each side. Her fury flowed from her, strengthening the summer breeze to a chilling gust of wind, rattling the holy flags that signified the home of a god.
“Osiris!” she bellowed again. She stomped her feet in frustration; her husband had never put her “petty issues” before his own, even though their shrines were housed in the same temple.
Suddenly her sharp ears caught the sound of monotonous chanting and singing, marking the approach of the priests of Re.
Damn, she thought, the morning ritual. Apparently Osiris even got his shrine prepared before she did.
She glanced from the bend of the processional avenue to the flags waving before her, not sure what to do.
Isis moved toward the pylon but stopped. She knew the consequences for appearing to a mortal were forbidden, regardless of the fact she’d done so too many times already. It was one of the specific rules Re had set out for her and the others to follow and the only rule that still infuriated him above all others. Not that, Isis hastily assured herself, he’d be ruling for much longer. But, exposing herself would certainly anger her husband, a man whose reputation has yet to be tainted. She was here to ask for a favor, she reminded herself, not to invoke his wrath.
I’ll play along, Re…for now.
Quickly, Iris whipped out her wand and muttered a spell just before the High Priest rounded the bend.
The High Priest smiled warmly at the bent hag standing beneath the flags. Isis felt her head tilt forward in a humble nod at the small, wrinkled priest, secretly shuddering at the sight of the deformed priests.
She watched as more priests marched passed, each wearing the priest’s headdress above his bat-like ears and priest’s reed skirt around their thin bellies. They were the same height as she, the hag, was, but in her human form, Iris knew smugly, she could crush them with her sandals. Water, food, linen, and jewelry passed her spot next to the obelisk, each handled carefully by its attendant. Her sharp eyes took in all the details; her husband, she realized angrily, seemed to get more food, more gold, more priests than the pharaoh had afforded her all these years. Another issue to speak to the dear pharaoh about.
As the last priest passed, Isis changed her appearance to that of a middle-ranked priest balancing a jar of wine on her head. Just as she burst into the courtyard, a much older-looking priest approached her.
“You!” The priest scrutinized Isis and the contents on her head carefully before directing her to the hall that led to the shrines. “Wine goes there.”
Isis frowned, sagging beneath the weight of the pot. The body of a priest certainly wasn’t built for strength. “The wine should go to the god directly, no?”
The elderly priest chuckled in surprise. “Little naïve one. No one,” he explained patiently, “goes into the inner sanctum but the pharaoh himself.” He shook his head; apparently this priest didn’t pay much attention in class.
Tired, Isis sighed, glancing around to make sure all the priests were busy cleaning up and preparing for the ritual. Isis shifted the jar on her head to one side as she pulled out her wand discreetly with the other hand. She whispered the ancient spell to bring this tiresome priest under her command.
“Send me to the inner sanctum,” she ordered.
Immediately the tiny priest pressed his hand against her back, startling her. “This way, young one.” Isis couldn’t conceal her smile as the older priest gave her clearance to the hypostyle hall.
As soon as she slipped out of sight down the hall, Isis threw away her disguise. She took a moment to admire the innermost section of her husband’s home enviously.
The tall pillars that held up the roof above her head were sculpted, each one different from the others. Some had hieroglyphics imprinted, praising the work of Osiris, the god of the dead. Others had the beautiful budding flowers and vines carved in from top to bottom to worship Osiris’ efforts in Creating the world. Isis tilted her head as far as possible to stare at the intricate scenes of worship painted so carefully on the ceilings.
Isis growled as she noticed a particular panel. In the scene, a picture of Osiris standing next to the pharaoh Re on a pedestal, basking in glory as non-magicals and other gods, her included, threw themselves at their feet. I would never bow, she thought fiercely as she strode powerfully past the Sacred Lake and into her husband’s chambers.
“Osiris!” she shouted as she threw the doors open with a bang. The scene she found before her only fuelled her fury. “I’m dealing with incompetent priests out there while you’re here enjoying grapes?” she screeched.
Indeed, a dark-haired young man laid back on a reclining chair with only a short loincloth around his middle, his Atef-crown lay forgotten beside the chair. One hand was half-immersed in the bowl of fruit by his side.
“Oh, Isis,” Osiris sighed, his eyes still closed as he savored another grape. “What brings you here, my wife?”
Isis glared at him resentfully. “Some god you are.”
Osiris yawned. “It wasn’t my idea to name us that, Isis. It was all your doing.” Osiris sat up, one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised. “If the priests are out there right now, how did you get in?”
Isis sauntered over and plucked a grape from the bowl. “Magick,” she replied impishly. When Osiris groaned, she let out a short laugh. “They don’t call me the goddess of magick for nothing, Osiris.”
Osiris reached down to scoop up his crown. “Why are you here, Isis? Tell me so you can leave,” he half-joked as he adjusted the crown on his head.
Isis’ eyes dimmed in cold fury as she remembered Re’s snub. “The sun god requests your council today,” she declared icily as she popped the grape in her mouth. These delicacies imported from the far east were only sent to her temple on the pharaoh’s birthday, the day of great generosity, and on deity festival dates. As far as she knew, only Osiris, as the only god who shared the platform in the pantheon with Re, had the privilege of receiving them everyday.
Osiris snorted. “He’s always asking for my advice, Isis. How does it offend you this time?”
“He sent an initiate to tell me!” Isis defended herself. “He never sends those…blood-pretenders unless he was in too much of a hurry to find an official.”
Still unconcerned, Osiris grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. “Did you probe his mind?”
Isis stood up straighter. “No,” she admitted. How could I have been so stupid? “I was too distracted by the blood-pretender to do so.”
Osiris sighed and took Isis’ hand. “Isis, this anger of yours isn’t helping you. Direct your wrath somewhere else! Into your magick, for example. You’d be a stronger witch if you could.”
Isis jerked her hand away. “I don’t want to be stronger.” Mentally she slapped herself for sounding like a child. Suddenly she clasped Osiris’ hand between both of hers. “I want power. Power only Re can give me.” Her eyes widened. “Tell me Re’s birth name, Osiris. Give me the power I seek!”
Osiris shook his head. “I may agree to share council matters with you, Isis, but this I cannot do.”
Isis tried again. “The name would bring me to the same platform in the pantheon as the two of you! That is all! I merely want the attention and honor I deserve, Osiris.”
Osiris squeezed his eyes shut. Another one of these days.“You know I cannot even if I wished to, Isis. Re had performed an Unbreakable Vow. I cannot help but keep his birth name a secret.”
Isis stood up, sick of the way her husband was treating her, as if subduing a child. “I placed him on that sun dais,” Isis whispered, her voice a deadly calm. “He took my rightful spot, and I said nothing. I killed to get that throne only to have it usurped by him.”
“Isis – “
“And you,” Isis pulled out her wand, enjoying the sight of her husband’s muscles tense as she did so. “I murdered my own brother for you. I risked my life bringing you back. I bore you a son. You owe me,” she spoke through gritted teeth. “If I can’t take back my spot, at least I will have a say in policies. I have a right to know what is going on in the world out there, Osiris. All the gods do! Who does Re think he is, singling some out while banishing others to a comfortable exile?”
Osiris stared up at his wife. “We all know, Isis, how you feel about having a usurper on the throne.” He eyed his wife warily. “You can’t possibly expect him to be so naïve as to believe you’ve gotten over this and welcome you back to the council with open arms, can you? Especially,” he added wryly, “since you obviously haven’t forgotten.
“But, you are right, Isis. You do have the right to know about the world that goes on around you. So I shall tell you of the troubles harassing the world.”
Osiris stood up and began to pace. “The non-magicals have come very close to discovering our secret. Apparently,” he sighed wearily, “you aren’t the only restless god, Isis.”
“What?’ Isis swayed on her feet. “This is what Re’s trying to hide from us?”
Osiris nodded. “Too many non-magicals have glimpsed us popping from place to place. Many of the curious and powerful ones have looked into it and have begun spreading the word that we exist. Re didn’t want the gods to worry and abandon our duties. That is why he called a private council of Hathor, I’m guessing, and myself.”
“Duties?” Isis interrupted again. “I should hardly think making sure the Nile flowed would outweigh the threat of exposure,” she quipped sarcastically.
“Isis, the others don’t know about this,” Osiris told his wife sternly. “I share this confidential information with you because of who you are to me. Do not take advantage of my trust!”
Isis sighed. “Can you imagine the chaos, Osiris?”
Osiris nodded. “The pharaoh can, too.”
“Bah!” Isis scoffed. “The pharaoh. The pharaoh’s as useless and mortal as the rest of us.” She glared. “Throwing the most useless titles at us. Now those non-magicals are worshipping us for the most ridiculous reasons. Like I give a toad’s wart about those barren women. Goddess of fertility,” Isis shook her head in disbelief.
“Exactly, my dear.” Osiris sighed again. “Imagine a world where non-magicals no longer worshipped us, no longer needed us, no longer cared for us. Where would we be? What would we do? This revolution could lead to our downfall. If those non-magicals ever found out we were mortal like them but with the gift of the Elixir of Life, the fact that we do have magick wouldn’t make a difference. We are mortals who can live forever.”
“What do you think will happen, Osiris?”
Here, finally, was the tender woman Osiris had fallen in love with – the woman who could still feel fear, hope, and despair. He gazed at her dark eyes. “We’d disappear, Isis,” he replied sadly. “They would destroy Re’s temple, his palace. They’d find a way to kill him. Then they’ll come after us, here in the desert. Our hwt petjer would be raided for its treasures and destroyed. We’ll be killed if found. The lucky ones among us would hide well, live among the unwitting non-magicals, waiting for the right time to reclaim what’s ours. Until then, they’ll be forced to live as non-magicals do, minimizing the use of magick. They’ll live in a world of their own creation and among the others, yet they cannot become like them, always the outcast. Exile in the world we created, condemned by beings that sprung from our own blood.”
Isis narrowed her black eyes, the warmth fleeing from them. “No,” she whispered darkly, “we didn’t survive this long for those weaklings to put us down.”
End notes:
In mythology, the only god at the head (the platform, in the story) of the pantheon was Re. Even Osiris was beneath the sun god.
Re’s “birth name,” in mythology, was actually called his “secret name.”
The start of the revolution was not the realization that gods were mortals. Rather, the Muggles were tired of the sun god’s reign.
The love between Osiris and Isis, in mythology, is comparable to that of James and Lily. However, for the purpose of this story, their love is ragged.
Otherwise, this chapter is as close to Egyptian myth as possible.
Reviews are greatly appreciated.