Author Games: The River of Night

Finals: Masika Aarahm

The stretch of road was long; long enough to take a person a thousand years to cross yet it would only take a matter of minutes.

Masika took the road with each powerful step. The reluctance of Nut and the people behind her set deep into her stomach. Whispers of doubt "She's so young," and murmurs behind her back "Simply a child," fuelled the doubt that she had in herself. They thought she couldn't continue.

She would always be considered a child. Even if her wild adventure made it in to history, she would be a child. Masika was an eternal person bathing in youth of naivety and candor – written in black ink that stained her image of bravery and intellect. History would always tell lies, she realised, there would always be inconsistences but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

If she made it back, Masika would not write of her tale. She would be glorified in a tale that told beautifully weaved lies that fell perfectly off the lips of those who told them. If she didn't make it back, she would remain a child to everyone who knew her. It was odd how a person could be frozen in time.

Masika's lonely footfalls crunched delicately on the sandy gravel because, even beneath the surface of Earth, she would find the light of Ra. She would be guided to the Gods who, too, had been frozen in time.

Masika realised that she would always be Sarambe's little sister. She would always be the youngest dancer. She would always be the irrational child and unable to grow into something else. There was a time when this would have made her happy; there was a time when she would have served the Gods without question. But, although her height was no taller than the cart her father travelled with, her mind was rich with age. Her life may be documented in falsity but Masika would always rise above it. It was through the naturalness of dance that she grew, a flower blooming in the golden desert sand; a storm brewing in the heat.

She added a slight hop to her step as she travelled further and began to hum a gentle rhythmic melody. It was a song her mother had taught her when she was beginning to dance. A simple beat that she could hear crunching in the gravel with each pace was unfamiliar to anyone but Masika and her mother. It wasn't a song for the Gods or a prayer of worship – it was a simple, mundane song that made her feel at home again. It was a song for herself. Masika slowly lifted her knees until she was skipping down the long road. Her skin stained with soot and her clothes torn from jagged pieces of rock – she would rise even if she was defeated. Her body would still move with as much grace as a lioness hunting.

She stopped suddenly. Her lips snapped shut in a reverent silence and the music fell from the air. Up ahead on the path, something lay on the ground. It was curled in a ball of pain and painted with streaks of crimson. With slow, cautious steps she went closer. It was almost painfully slow. Every inch gave her a new sense. She could hear strangled growls and the raggedness of breathing. She could smell something burning.

It her mind this was a child. It was always pain that made someone younger – so why was she still a child? Masika wandered closer and closer eventually circling around the human until she was in front of it. She realised it was the God himself – Ra. He looked like Anubis, Masika thought, but with the head of a hawk. Feathers decorated his head in the place of hair and curled around past his shoulders until it touched beautifully tanned and muscled skin. A headdress was cast to the side with Ra's signature sun disk barely shining like the sun would. He wore a kilt-like skirt – like a Pharaoh would – that was decorated in plaited golden chains. What surprised Masika the most was that he almost looked ordinary. However, this was his human form.

"Ra?" she whispered. All the formalities had escaped her mind momentarily as she crouched down beside him with her eyes holding nothing but worry, "We have come to save you," she whispered.