War Of Egypt II • The Persians

Chapter 23: Differences

    Kha had woken up for the third time that day staring into someone's else's face. It was starting to annoy him. But his irritation quickly faded away when he saw that the person looking down on him and snapping his fingers in front of his face was the rogue Prince of Persia. Kha lifted his left arm and swept his hands aside as if to prove that he was fine on his own. He sat up and saw that he was in a different chamber from his allocated one. This one was equally big in size as his own chamber, however it had different ornaments all over it. There were Persian war banners, swords and spears, a series of armor arrangements by the wall, another assortment of weapons and finally a display shelve full of headdresses including a crown. It was his room. Kha was staring at the crown when Atar cut into his vision and grinned devilishly.

   "You like it?" He asked with a stiff nod, "you can see the dust on it, it has not been touched in 47 years—that was how long I was in the labyrinth. I suppose to us gods that is a very small number since we live forever, it could have been longer for me, but 47 is still a long time to be alone and forced to battle creatures night to night."

    Kha looked down at his own body, traces of gold still on it but completely bare of his armor and half of his clothing. Self-conscious in front of the Prince, he rose off the bed and looked all over for anything to cover his chest but unfortunately his neck collar would have to surfice. He glanced at Atar, "no, you were right to see how long the time was. 47 years is almost half the age of a mortal man, you would have been dead by now or if you had not perished—an old man."

   "Such a pleasant thought," Atar mumbled and pointed at the crown, "I hate that thing. It ruined my life."

    Kha walked over to the display set and frowned, "where are my clothes? Did you administer to me?"

   "No, Asire's women did," he responded quietly and then his face grew in realization. "You can have one of my garments, they took yours."

   "Of course they did," Kha said to himself and looked around the room until his eyes fell on the long black garment. It was not his style. Kha always wore a shendyt, preferably short, and either a chest piece or nothing at all. There was also the subject of his cloak; where in Apophis' name was it? He chuckled dryly and walked over to the garment that was stretched out on the lounging chair by the balcony. He looked at it and rolled his eyes as he picked it up into his hands.

    Atar was watching him carefully, those different swirling hues of burning colors within the gold of his eyes, fixated on Kha. "It is not what you wear, I gather, but it is what I am offering. Take it, Kha."

    Kha took the tunic and slid it over his frame, it fitted perfectly until he saw the outline of his shendyt causing unwanted lumps in the straight material around his waistline. His head snapped up and he found that Atar had disappeared from the chamber. Kha frowned as his hands trailed the outline of his belt and undid his shendyt beneath the garment, did he purposely leave the room to avoid the awkwardness? When Kha unfastened his shendyt and removed it, the Persian garment fell over his body with a gracefulness. It was uncanny how the outfit fitted him perfectly even though it belonged to Atar. Speaking of the Prince, right after Kha managed to put on the tunic, he appeared by the balcony and shrugged looking in. "Not so bad."

   "I like it," Kha replied with a chuckle. "Yes, it is not so bad."

   "So do you want to talk about it?" Atar asked and Kha got the feeling he was not speaking about the garment. The way Atar's sly character faded so quickly to give way to his grave nature had Kha worried. He shook his head.

   "It was nothing," Kha responded. "I just felt something for a moment."

    Atar moved closer and peered at him, "something is not nothing."