Author Games: The River of Night

Semifinals: Ife Lerato

I was a mother once – but my goodbye was longer than my hello.

Her breaths grow laborious and her head spins; her legs cramp and her back aches. Ife Lerato drags herself, inch by inch, through the Underworld. Even as a child, when she still lived in the dwelling of her parents, she had never done such physical work. Rather, she had been raised to charm and delight, and to marry a man. When that had failed, as she grew old and gray, she still had never carried harvests or walked through fields. Instead, she had been given a palace and two sweet children to look after.

Hotep, are you behaving? Are you scared, Atem? She thinks of those children – the ones who are hers without being of her flesh – and wonders whether she will see them again. The end, by now, nears: she will die of fatigue, or fighting the Serpent. Or, somehow, she will survive both and hold those boys in her arms yet again. What about you, Ahmose? Are you safe? She will find him. One day, be it once she has finished, or in the field of dreams, she will find her son, and he too will rest in his arms. Ife Lerato has three children, but she only has one son. She will not throw him away a second time.

The sun begins to set over the river of night. Even here, it seems, the essence of Ra is beginning to slip away. It will not be long until it has vanished altogether, and so her battle has almost come. How she will fight, however, she does not know. Ife has told stories of wars before, and she knows how those stories go, but how they apply to her is a mystery she quickly needs to uncover. Slowly, the reeds pass before her, and, nested in them, something stirs.

There was a serpent, once, as cruel as cruel

Could be.

But there is no serpent in the bush. Rather, what Ife sees when she shifts the reeds apart from each other chills her to the core of her being, screaming the same word over and over again – wrong! – because even Apophis couldn't be this cruel. Because even she, who has always liked to see the best in the world and turn a blind eye to its miseries, can't possibly have failed to see this coming. Surely, he isn't this cruel. And surely, she isn't this naïve.

Looking up at her, freezing her every nerve, are two big, brown eyes. They stare at her, full of nothing but innocence and purity, blinking as the light hits them. And suddenly it smiles. It throws his hands upwards with a giggle and tries to touch her face. Slowly, a smile creeps onto her face and a sparkle appears in the corners of her eyes.

"Ahmose," she whispers.

For a half of an instant – just long enough for Ife to see it – a look she can only describe as evil flashes in the baby's eyes.

"Maaaamaaaa," it hisses.

There was a falcon once: a proud, strong god

Was he.

But there is no falcon. There is only an old woman, withered by time and by her recent journey, facing her past's smile as it taunts her. There is no pride; only shame every time she is alone at night and ponders what might once have been. There is no strength. In its place lies the creaking of bones and the aching of a broken heart.

Isis, she begs, if you can hear me, please give me strength. That is all I need. But Ife Lerato doesn't feel any stronger; instead, the weight of her abandonment hits her harder than it ever has before. She has disappointed many people in her life – everyone of her age has – but never Isis. Now, even her goddess has abandoned her.

And in Osiris land he goes

To wage a holy war.

But there is nothing holy about what she must do. Instead, she watches purity as she wonders if she can really do this a second time – and she cannot. Ife Lerato has committed three sins in her life, and the last one brought this child into the world: her fourth will not be taking it out of it. She has spent so much time preparing herself for an unwinnable fight that she never bothered to think of one that was far, far too easy. She walked into this battle accepting death; not murder.

"What isssss it?" the baby asks. "What'ssss wrooong?"

She blinks. Step by step, Ife inches towards the child's cradle and takes it into her hands. Its face stretches into a thin smile.

And even Set

Helps beat the Snake.

But the voice who greets her next isn't Set.

I chose you to do what you must; now do it.

And she does.

For once

Again he beat the Snake as cruel as cruel

Could be.

But in the waters, an eel coils away, smirking. For chaos, no matter what shape it takes, lives to stir trouble, retreat, and fight another day.

"Congratulationsssss," it hisses. "It'sss a girl."