Cursed Times - What Now?

Chapter 48 - A Voice from the Grave

Seisi held out a scrap of papyrus. 'Iseret wanted you to have this.'

Metjen fumbled for the document and pocketed it.

He would read it later; he was shattered and his failure constricted his throat. Far too few of his friends had made it to safety, and it was his fault. How could he not notice what was happening with Nebmutef? When had his mentor passed over? During those last days on his sickbed, realising he was dying? Before, when he had to seal the shrine of Ra? Or earlier even when both Metjen and Iseret had relied on him to keep things running? It mattered no more. It was too late. Metjen had screwed up. He had failed the temple, his gods, his people--and Trueth. Or had he? Why did she have to fall in love with him? That was stupid. He had shown her may times how he enjoyed their friendship, how much more she meant to him--

Seisi's voice interrupted his musings. 'Do not continue, it will only bring you hurt. I advise you to seek counsel from the Maat instead.'

Metjen focussed his attention on the river.

Seisi sighed. 'I must talk to the Guardians. The fallen prophet told me they had taken measures to wake before the others. I will go tomorrow and take Ranofer, so they see I speak the truth. We need to make haste, I am much concerned for the Lady Trueth's health. '

'So am I. Even if she is no lady,' Metjen said. 'Let me come with you. I can speed things up.'

Seisi shook his head. 'Stay, you need to protect the survivors.'

'I can't protect anybody.' Metjen jumped up, went back into the camp and out of sheer perversion declared he would take the first watch.

Seisi shrugged and settled next to Trueth, cooling her forehead with Nile water. 'You rest,' he addressed Metjen's grey-faced mother making Metjen feel even more guilty.

As the camp fell quiet, with only the occasional snore sawing through the night, Metjen called up a flame and opened Iseret's letter.

'From Iseret to Metjen, Greetings. If you read this, you have succeeded. I congratulate you. You have become the Hand of Fate as I thought you would. You will be much concerned about those things you did and how they will weigh down your heart. Like the papers you read in my room, and the tomb you entered. And how it led to failure.

'Like I once disobeyed those with better wisdom and failed in my endeavours. I tell you instead: What you did was for the good. You did what I wanted you to do, what only you could achieve. For it was the Lady Maat herself I prayed to for pardon, who heard me and ordered me to keep the sleepers safe--and to send them on when the time was right. Both together I could not have achieved, not after all these years. So I did nothing and let you do it. I wished you had been more respectful about it, not thrown your weight around the way you did.

'Less of this now.

'Read this and remember well: The mirror world is not free of the dark ones. There are three with many powers who will come with the sleepers. Show this letter to the high priest of Thoth and he will know which measures to take

'I wish you peace on your new path. But while it will be much longer than before, I do not think my wish will come true. Enough of this, my journey comes to a close, and I shall prepare for the end. Farewell.

'Iseret, First Prophet of Hathor'

Metjen's heart soared towards the stars that twinkled in the night sky. She had done it again, had been doing it all the time. In another life, he would have taken offence at being manipulated. Here it did no longer mattered. He would say many prayers for her ba instead, hoping she would find peace in the netherworld. He had not failed. At least not completely.