“Why squander your divinity on a dead man, boy?” Ra shattered the warding spell protecting the
room. Bony fingers, sharper than a hawk’s talons, sank into Heru’s shoulder.
My father’s been murdered.
Heru shook off Ra’s hand. The
Mighty Bull is no more.
Heru rocked back
and forth on his haunches beside the massive bed in which he had been conceived.
Morning sun crept across the tiles, picking out individual colors. The scent of lavender and pungent rosemary
from his mother’s garden did not dissipate the pall in the royal bed chamber.
Betrayal and murder. Heru pounded the floor, furious at the treachery
of his fellow gods. They had accepted
his father’s bounty on their altars and then averted their eyes when the
assassin came upon him. The old gods had
flattered Heru, calling him Divine Child and Bringer of Light; yet, nary a one
gave him fair warning of the plot against his father. Not even the Lord of Truth and Time, who had
tutored Heru’s mortal mother and claimed to love her like a daughter.
Heru’s world tilted. Isfet. Chaos.
“This is what it means to be human, little godling,” Ra
said. The King of Gods’ treacherous hand
returned to Heru’s shoulder. A shiver ran down Heru’s spine. Help me, Mother. © Copyright 2005. All Rights Reserved. Michalea Moore
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