Author Games: The River of Night

Finals: Ife Lerato

I was a mother once, though I did not know it.

She stood before me, and yet I did not see her; did not know her save for a name I thought was real. In death, I have learned, we can finally understand the world in which we once lived. I have always doubted that humans are born with a fog of sorts; a mist that blocks us off from reality and limits what we know to what we live. In life, knowledge exists only in small specks that we grasp at, desperate to gather all the information we can. In death, the mist is lifted, and sight is restored.

And now... I know. But I have already learned the one thing I wanted to during the last moments of my life.

"Amisi?" I watch her ask as I relive my final moments yet again. The body of Ife Lerato is not mine - not anymore, anyway - and I must admit that I'm getting used to the distance. Slowly, anyway. "I'm glad to see you've made it safely. I haven't seen you since before I faced Ma'at."

"There are some things," she says, "that a black and white system of justice cannot understand. I preferred my chances in the Demon Lands."

"Clearly, that worked out for you." Ife pulls the young woman into her arms and smiles, her chin rested against Amisi's shoulder. "I was worried."

"But I'm nothing to you," whispers Amisi. "You have no reason to care."

You have a reason, my child.

It has been so long since Ife has heard Isis' voice that she freezes at first. Her heartbeat slows. Her breathing grows louder. A warmth wraps her, unlike anything Ife Lerato has experienced, despite being raised not far from the deserts of Egypt. She knows heat; but this, a type of spiritual comfort and healing, is something wholly new to her. Even the goddess has not blessed her this way before.

"You are a person," Ife says. "You're a child of the goddess, and that's reason enough for me, Amisi."

The young woman flinches. "I should confess something," she mutters.

"Then do so. I will not judge you."

Masika and Khalid squirm in the distance. They are both children, still, aged horribly by the events they have faced. But Ife has hope: Isis will watch over them, and she will see to it that they are warm and loved. They are heroes, after all, and they are the future. And, first and foremost, they are all children of the goddess.

Ife can feel Amisi shake in her arms. She pats her back, her hand moving in soothing circles. "My name isn't Amisi. I'm Ramia Gamal, and I'm a liar."

"Did you pretend to be someone you aren't?" Ife asks. "Did you hide the essence of your soul?"

"No, but -"

"A name means nothing, Ramia. My son doesn't have one, so why should we? In fact," she pauses, "I'm not even sure I have one. Both Ma'at and the Serpent seemed to think otherwise."

Before Ramia can respond, the cave flashes a bright colour. It almost looks like a yellow, and yet there is more complexity to it than that: oranges and reds, even flashes of white and blue; the colours blend together to form a blinding warmth. Even now, as I watch it for what must be the seventh time, I cannot describe it. How, after all, does one explain the very magnificence of the sun?

"Ra..." whispers Masika. Her eyes grow wide before the falcon, much like Ife's had when she saw him. She had never understood how a falcon's head could look anything but grotesque on a man's body, and yet that thought vanishes the second Ife sees him. A sharp beak decorates black and white feathers, and somehow it turns into a neck the colour of midnight and a body of massive proportions, built entirely of muscle. At first, Ife had described the light in his eye as a glint; now she knows it to be the sun itself.

"You have arrived," he croaks. "I take it the Serpent has been banished?"

"For the time being, my lord," whispers Ife. "We mortals are only capable of so much."

Ra smiles. "And you have done so much more than most humans could already. I am proud of each and every one of you. But I'm afraid I have one last request to make."

Even Ramia blinks as she is faced with the sun itself. She stumbles over her words in a way that Ife has never seen before. "Of course, sir. What is it?"

Startled, Ife jumps back as a scarab creeps out of Ra's chest, tearing through his taut flesh on its way. "This," he explains, "is my heart and the source of my strength. If one of you doesn't accept it as theirs, I will die. But be warned: if you do, your soul will burn away as I take possession of your body."

"Well," Masika says, "it can't be that painful, can it? I'll do it."

Neither Khalid nor Ramia speak. Ife watches the people who have been her travelling companions for the past adventure. They are all so young, she realizes. Even Ramia. There's so much ahead of them. But as for me...

"I'll do it," she says. "Your parents need you, girl. You're going home. I'm old enough to know what it is I'm sacrificing; it has to be me."

I am proud of you, my child. I knew you had the strength in you.

Thank you, my lady. But was this the plan from the start? For me to die?

I'm afraid it was necessary, Ife. But, as a thanks, I convinced the gods it was fit to reward you for your sacrifice.

I live to serve you; the only reward I need is the knowledge I have pleased you.

Do you not wish to know the name of your child, Ife?

I would wish nothing more, my lady.

"Step forth, Ife Lerato."

She has always thought that Ra's voice would boom, unparalleled in its power even by a mighty lion's roar. Yet at the moment it is little more than a whisper, and it grows fainter by the second. Still, she obeys. Ife opens her hands to the scarab, and it climbs onto them, melting into her skin.

Suddenly, there is fire. The inside of her skin feels as the outside does on the hottest day she has ever lived; her blood jumps up and down as the scarab boils in; her head pulses and her breathing quickens.

I am ready, my lady.

You have no son, Ife. But you have a child, and I have brought her to you. You have known her, even if only for the time of your death.

One last time, she locks eyes with Ramia, and she smiles.

"Goodbye, my daughter, and be good. I will watch over you."