Accidents Happen - Part 2
#5 of Scrolls for a Lifetime
Story & Writing (c) me, Assassin
Characters Khaliset & Rahotep belongs to me.
This short story ties in to several other small stories, ultimately turning into an event that will change and shape Khaliset's life for all of eternity. Part 2 of many more to come!
Khaliset felt the need to be a larger part of the mortal world than her heritage allowed.
Though her father never knew, Khaliset continued to secretly watched the boy she had once saved.
The demigod became familiar with Rahotep and his family. She would spend hours in her black feral form, studying the humans in their daily lives. His father, an Egyptian farmer, worked and owned a plantation nearby. His mother, an Egyptian and Greek woman with a skill in weaving, produced goods at home and sold them at the local market. They had a cow, as well as a donkey they used and cared for at their home. Rahotep helped when he could, though his body always seemed lean and frail. With each meal he ate he seemed to grow taller, instead of thicker.
In the Duat, new faces appeared almost endlessly. Someone was always dying, one thing Khaliset did not envy in the life of a mortal. Newly deceased would wait with her and Kebechet, until it was their turn to weigh their heart against a feather. Kebechet would bring water, and Khaliset would comfort and keep order.
A sinking feeling grasped the maidens heart upon the sight of two faces she recognised. Her pawsteps seemed to be in slow motion as she raced to their position in line, grabbing them each by the shoulder. Rahotep was not with them. She was at a loss for words, and needless to say they were delirious, as all of the dead were.
"Kebechet, I'll be back!" She screamed, hearing her sister's angered bellows behind her. Leaving the Duat, she found herself back on the farm. Everything was ablaze with far reaching flames, and although there were no screams to be heard, the donkey brayed loudly and the cow bellowed in fear.
Where was the boy? The house was aflame from the inside, the fields alive with heat, the stench of thick oil drowning out the smell of burnt flesh. This was no accident. On a hill overlooking the farm, three horses carried men decked in flashy armor, undoubtedly officials working for the Ptolemy regime.
The goddess realized her coat was blazing just as bright as the flames, as the markings on her body glowed brighter each passing breath. Quickly phasing into her feral form, the God ran full speed around the location, hoping to get a glimpse of anyone she could help. The boy was still here. She could feel it.
A shadow slumped on a nearby dune, his knees in the sand, a pose of pure defeat whittling away at his thin frame. Khaliset found herself slightly more relieved to see the boy still alive. There was nothing the goddess could do. She could not approach to comfort the child, no matter how bad it tore apart her soul. She soon returned to her duties in the Duat, having at least seen Rahotep was alive.
Over the next few weeks, Khaliset watched the boy. He cought the donkey, as well as the cow, and lead them to market to sell, and in turn feed himself. There was nothing to be salvaged from the farm. Down to the last straw, the whole place had been hollowed out. Nothing was left save the empty and burnt bricks of the house and barn, to be reclaimed by the desert.
The boy wasn't alone long, as Khaliset soon found him working for the owner of a gladiator arena, no simple coincidence she was sure. He would work day in, day out, cleaning the arena and caring for the gladiators. In turn, he was fed, sheltered, and although paid little, there were other ways the arena fulfilled him. Rahotep would watch the fights, the training, and talk to survivors after fights.
If Rahotep survived to adulthood, his watchfulness as a young teen would fuel the man to be when grown.