Just like the last time, Viktor settled on the wide stone steps that led up to the golden throne, arms resting on his knees. Below, at the foot of the steps, Sebekton had dropped into a crouch, yet his reptilian eyes still met Viktor’s as if they were on equal ground. His tail casually flicked, stirring a lazy swirl of dust across the arena floor. And before them, just in front of the throne, sat Khenemhotep. His tall headdress gleamed in the dancing torchlight, each glyph etched into its polished surface flaring like a spark before vanishing back into the shadow.
Akane had been dismissed once they were back in the Chamber of the Dead, and now the storytelling session was about to begin.
“And behold,” the ancient priest rasped, “I reckon I owe you a story. But please, remind me, where did we leave off last time?”
“Nakhran,” said Sebekton.
“Ah... Nakhran,” Khenemhotep repeated, the two glowing orbs in his sockets flickering like dying embers being stirred by a breeze that whispered about long-forgotten things. “In the days of his youth, he was a man of great promise. Just like me, he had been taken in by the temple when he was but a child and raised to serve in the house of the Bearded God. I saw him from time to time, and I could feel it: his future shone as bright as the morning light. But who among us could have foreseen that he, of all people, would be the one to tear our world apart?”
Viktor knew better than to point out that he had said the exact same thing in the last session, because interrupting him unnecessarily was sure to provoke another digression and waste even more time. So he held his tongue, waiting for the undead priest to move on with his tale.
“All was well and in order, until the day that goddess came forth and showed herself to our world...”
“Iseth-Ra?” asked Viktor.
“Verily, Sovereign of the Dungeon,” Khenemhotep replied. Noticing Sebekton’s confused look, he began to explain. “She is the Goddess of Life. And as their natures differ, so do their ways, for she and my Lord, the Bearded God, stand in opposition, both in power and in purpose. Yet, even though they are at odds, they are gods still, and their dealings remain bound by civility. Thus, the Bearded God accepted her presence and granted her leave to walk freely upon the face of our world.”
“Why did she come to your world?” the Crocodilian asked. “And what did she do there?”
“She said that her coming was but a simple visit,” Khenemhotep said slowly, his words rising and falling in a cadence. “Yet, we could not know the thoughts of her heart or the purpose she kept hidden. So she walked through our world, from the crowded streets of great cities to the humble villages on the desert’s edge. She lived among the sons of men, spoke with them, ministered to their needs, and taught them the work of her hands.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. In fact, she seems like a great person,” Sebekton said with a shrug. “Bet that your people loved her.”
Viktor, on the other hand, knew better. “Was she trying to sway your god’s followers into worshiping her instead?”
Khenemhotep shook his head. “I don’t think that was her intention, for if she had sought to sway the hearts of our people, would she not have come with her own priests rather than come alone? Nay, it is just as I said. She is someone who acts without thinking ahead, caring little for her deeds’ consequences. Yet the truth remains: whether by design or by folly, the name of her divinity spread among the people. And the cults that follow her began to rise across the land.”
“I’m sure your god wasn’t too pleased about it.”
“Verily, the Bearded God and we, His servants, watched these cults with deep concern. Yet our Lord was tolerant and merciful, and so He allowed the people to choose whom they would worship. As long as they caused no strife or disturbance, the cults were permitted to do as they wished. We, the High Priests, did not all agree with this decision, but our Lord had spoken. Thus, we made it known to our followers that the cults were to be left unmolested.”
“And?”
“Unfortunately, while we, the elder priests, were patient and steadfast in obeying our Lord’s command, the younger ones did not feel the same. They were angry at the cults for their sacrilege and saw their very existence as a grave insult to our Lord. And so it happened that, on a certain day, a group of them, led by Nakhran, went to the place where the cults were holding their gathering...”
Viktor chuckled. “Did they start a fight or something?”
“Nay, though they were fiery in spirit, they still knew better than to resort to violence. Nakhran issued a challenge to the leaders of the cults: they would settle their differences through debate, to show the people who the one true God was. The cult leaders agreed, and the debate was scheduled. As I have said, Nakhran was a young man of great wisdom, with a sharp mind and insight beyond his years. He dismantled his opponents’ arguments with ease, shaming them before the eyes of the crowd.”
“So far, so good. What went wrong, then?”
Khenemhotep’s voice lowered. “Just when Nakhran’s victory seemed all but certain, he was told that one final debate remained. And behold, his opponent was Iseth-Ra herself.”
Sebekton arched a scaled ridge. “Really?”
Yes, it was absurd. A goddess and a mortal, quarreling in the street. But also yes, it sounded wildly entertaining. If Viktor had been there at that time, he would have certainly found a seat and made a day of it. Divine drama was, without question, the best kind of drama.
Khenemhotep let out a breathless sigh. “The words of Nakhran’s debates caused a stir throughout the land, and news of them had reached her ears. And when she heard, she resolved that she too would take part. It was unbecoming for someone of her stature to do so, but as I have said before, she does whatever she pleases, giving no thought to where her actions might lead.”
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“And?” Sebekton asked. “Who won?”
“No one prevailed,” Khenemhotep replied, “for the debate lasted all day, words clashing back and forth, yet neither side could deliver a final answer. When the sun set, they agreed to cease and continue at dawn. On the following day, Iseth-Ra and Nakhran returned to the place of their contention, and a great crowd gathered around them. Once again, the struggle of words ended without a winner. Then came the third day, and they met again; this time, the people assembled in even greater numbers. It went on for a month, and with each passing day, more people came to listen, until the crowds were beyond number. Yet still, the matter remained unsettled, and no victor was ever found.”
Now that was weird. There was no way an argument could last that long. Either someone should have won already, or they should have agreed to disagree and moved on. Something was telling Viktor this was dragging out for a reason beyond both sides being stubborn.
As if Khenemhotep had read his mind, the undead priest provided the answer before he even had to ask.
“It came to pass that Iseth-Ra had withheld her full power, for she desired to see how long a mortal might stand against her. But as the days went on, Nakhran’s heart began to change. No longer did he argue for the sake of his Lord, nor to win glory for his own name. He returned each day for the joy of the debate itself. He came again and again, not for duty, nor for honor, but to see her face, and to hear her voice.”
Viktor suppressed a grin. “Don’t tell me he fell for her.”
Khenemhotep didn’t answer.
Seriously?
Well, to be fair, from how the ancient priest described her, Iseth-Ra did sound charming. So a young, idealistic man falling in love with her was not a stretch at all. Still, what the mortal felt was irrelevant; what mattered was how the goddess saw it.
Wait.
But she was whimsical, wasn’t she? She did as she pleased, regardless of the outcome. She had come without warning, walked among mortals with no clear goal, and sat down in a public square to spar with a man like it was a game. Given everything she had done up to this point, an affair with a mortal was perfectly in character. In other words, their so-called “debate” had stopped being a contest of logic and faith, and had become a dance of words, where their passion wove through every exchange.
“What came next?”
“No one remembers how their debate came to an end, for in time it ceased to matter. The two had grown close, and their hearts were no longer set upon victory,” Khenemhotep replied. “Nakhran remained a priest and still served the Bearded God, yet he was seen more often in the company of Iseth-Ra than in the courts of the temple. For a time, there was peace in the land. The cults devoted to her name grew stronger, yet remained only a small remnant among the people, and there was no strife between them and us. But one day, without warning, she departed from our world, just as suddenly as she had come.”
“So she finally got bored, huh?” Viktor said with a chuckle. “What did our poor boy do, then?”
“Nakhran laid down the office of priest and left the temple. He journeyed out into the world, following the path that Iseth-Ra had walked before him. He visited the great cities and the humble villages alike. He spoke with the people, and ministered to their need...”
Then where the hell did the part about him bringing the Great Calamity come from?
“Then came the day of Nakhran’s own departing, and his soul passed into the realm of the Bearded God. At last, he stood within His hall and faced His judgment. His soul was weighed on the Scale of Truth, and he was found worthy, and welcomed into the Garden of Peace. But behold, he then did the most unthinkable...”
“Which was?” asked Viktor.
“He raised his voice and denounced the Bearded God. Before His throne, he declared that He had placed a curse upon the world: the curse of stagnation. And it was clear to all from whom these words had come.”
The man got that idea from Iseth-Ra, obviously. She was the one who wanted changes, and from her perspective, the Beard God was what kept everything the same forever.
“The Bearded God was wroth with great fury,” Khenemhotep continued, his raspy voice low and grim. “He cast Nakhran’s soul into the void, into utter oblivion, where no light shines and no memory remains.
Didn’t that mean the God of Death had broken his own rules? Nakhran had passed the test. His soul had been weighed and found pure. But he was condemned all the same, simply for daring to pose a challenge. Maybe that was his plan all along. He passed the judgment first, to make it plain that he wasn’t corrupt, wasn’t misguided, wasn’t blinded by anything, then made his accusation. Khenemhotep was right. Nakhran was a brilliant man, indeed.
“What next?” asked Viktor. “I doubt the story ended there.”
A long silence fell. Khenemhotep didn’t stir, sitting motionless on the steps as the flickering torchlight danced on his withered form, deepening the hollows of his desiccated visage, while the green fire in his sockets waned under the weight of a nameless, ancient sorrow.
Please don’t stop here, Viktor thought. Finish your damn story.
Finally, the undead priest spoke, “Yet by some mystery, Nakhran returned once more to the realm of the living.”
“How?”
“Though Nakhran was cast into oblivion, and though the Bearded God had decreed that he should be forgotten, it was not so. By some miracle, he escaped the void. Whether it was by the will of Iseth-Ra, or by the aid of other gods, or by the might of his own defiance, I do not know. Yet his soul did not perish, neither was it consumed.”
“What did he do after his return?” asked Sebekton.
“He... he raised his voice once more and denounced the Bearded God, and this time with fiercer wrath than ever before. He declared that, because of the injustice done to him, the Bearded God was no longer worthy to sit as the judge of the dead. Therefore... he, Nakhran, proclaimed himself the new God of Death.”
That’s... bold. Viktor could understand why the guy was mad after being treated unfairly, and maybe his critique of the Bearded God had some merit, but to declare himself a god? Did he have anything to back up such a claim?
“But how could a mortal... no, a spirit...” Sebekton asked. “I don’t even know what he was anymore, but could someone like him really claim the seat of a god?”
“In testament to his newfound power, he reforged the souls of those long lost to oblivion, breathing life into them once more. Thus arose the Cult of Nakhran, and many gathered to his side, their numbers growing every day. The hearts of men were stirred by awe and by rebellion, and they turned from the old ways to follow after him.”
Viktor’s mind reeled. Nakhran had brought back the souls that had been consumed by oblivion? Was it the same power that mysterious traveler had used to bring him back to life?
“What happened next?” asked Sebekton.
Viktor chuckled. “War, obviously.”
With a resigned nod, Khenemhotep said, “Indeed, Sovereign of the Dungeon. War raged across my world, with the dead and the living fighting on both sides. The battle swept through great cities and barren deserts alike, leaving upon the land grievous wounds that would fester for generations. The laws that govern life and death were bent and broken, and the veil between the two realms became fragile and thin. Nothing could halt its rending. It was an age of chaos, where the impossible was made manifest, and the world was undone and reforged in the furnace of destruction.”
So that was the Calamity, huh? A clash between a god who refused to step down and a man who dared to rise too high. One clung to tradition, to stability, while the other sought change and a new order. Needless to say, regardless of who emerged victorious, that world would have been left in ruins, ravaged beyond recognition.
