Disclaimer:
Everyone is over eighteen. If you are not deeply into fantasy pulp fiction, gender fluidity and pansexuality, you are in the wrong place. This chapter is full of violence and hot wizard on Amazon action. No sex, though. Sorry. You have been warned!
BEHOLD! I, Thutmose-Neferkare, royal scribe, chief librarian and high priest of the divine Ra do bid thee welcome back for the eleventh scroll in "The Saga of Tallia the Unwilling". And it's a good one by the way. Very exciting. But enough about that. Let us instead take this opportunity to discuss about more important matters. Let's talk about... me.
I've been asked several times via various inquiries and messengers -- "Oh, most august and exalted high priest of Ra, what is a typical day like for thee? We, the little people, crave to bask in thy splendor!" Oh, my dearest disciples, most sincere of sycophants, my finest and most favorite of fawning fandoms, how can I say no to thee? So, here you have it -- a day in the life of Thutmose-Neferkare.
First of course, with the dawn, I rise from my place of resting. Fun fact -- I, like the divine Ra, am definitely a morning person. I am greeted by my bevy of house slaves who bow before me and beat the gong of joy at my awakening. My thirteen favorite concubines -- the 'bod squad' as I like to call them -- do cleanse and bathe me and... well, let's just say it's not only the gong of joy that takes a beating.
Anyways, I take my breakfast just like any other man. Today for example, I repasted on humble fair -- a honey cake, curried larks' tongues, baked spiced aardvark liver, fricasseed pangolin heart, and rarest berries from the slopes of the holy mountain, and of course tea. And then I'm off in my favorite sporty little chariot to the temple. But I do try to make time to catch the morning news from my favorite herald on the way to work.
The sub-priests greet my arrival at the temple and sing a song in celebration of my return. Then I dispatch my enforcers to make sure those laggards understand both their assigned duties and their place in my esteem. And then, it's just work work work all day. I issue decrees, I oversee my underlings, I order miscreants set aflame and yes I commune with the most high. Being a high priest is oh so demanding.
But as the sun starts to go down, I take a moment out of my day and save everyone's life by politely asking the divine Ra to please return in the morning. He has so far agreed. You are all welcome by the way. Then I'm done with temple and off to enjoy the night life of the Holy City. Yes, my friends, the exalted Thutmose-Neferkare is no stranger to a good time. The Chosen of Ra knows how to party!
I catch dinner at only the trendiest of dining spots and then -- it's time to get my dancing sandals on. My preferred haunt is a little placed called... oh, stop me if you've heard of it... Studio Bast. That's right. I confess! I'm a regular at the hottest night spot in town. In fact, I'm on a first name base with the high priestess Isis-Anet. Yes, Izzy's pet name for me is Swing Tut. Cute. And a fine way to get set on fire, if you happen not to be the hottest cat priestess on the planet.
Anyways, I'd like to go on about the things that happen at Studio Bast, but honestly, I'm sworn to secrecy. I roll out at half past late and chariot myself back home. Look out nightwalkers! Swing Tut will be lit! And then I roll into bed, rest up and get ready to do it all over again come the morrow.
It's a hard life and one that really I don't think most people could endure. But I have fun with it. And armed with my eternal faith in my bestest of buds, the divine Ra, I know the good times will keep on rolling.
Yay, let it be written! Yay, let it be done!
Chapter Eleven: Shoot it Straight in the Eye
Liandra awoke unusually first at what they were now sure was actually morning. Sang and Hilarius had just returned from the surface not long ago, so they once more had insight into the cycle of sun and moon even so deep underground. She knew why she was up so early. She was troubled, haunted, by a flood of memory.
She remembered all those years ago, when she was not even yet grown. She had awaken early that morning as well. She had risen and looked out over the farms surrounding Amathus beneath the shadow of the sacred temple hill. It was fall and everywhere the fields were golden, thick with grain almost ready to harvest. It was glorious autumn morning -- clear and sunny and you could see all the way to the blue sea. The fishing boats were already out, eager to find their daily catch.
She was twelve the day her mother died. She remembered so clearly, even years later, her mother's last words to her. "I must do something very important today but very dangerous. I need you to stay at the temple. Remain close with the flame keeper. She'll keep you safe. Whatever happens, know that you are my joy and my life, my little lioness. I love you so much. Now show mommy how you roar."
"Rarrr!" she had said, so playfully, so sweetly. It had made her mother smile. But even then, she could tell that her mother was troubled.
Before that moment, her life in Amathus had been an idyllic one. She was the daughter of the high priestess, a position of privilege. She was tutored unusually extensively for a little girl. The temple tutors taught her to read and do sums. They taught her poetry and the teachings of the Lord and Lady of Love and how to sing and make music in honor of the sacred androgyne. She learned the history of her venerable order and the stories of gods and heroes.
And when she was not preparing for her place in the priesthood, she had the island itself to explore. Amathus was a beautiful port city, surrounded by an even more beautiful countryside. The lush greens of the field, the sapphire blues of the sea, the white stone of the hills and cliffs -- her memories it seemed were mainly colors.
The whole world sang to her. She felt the love in the mountain wildflowers straining for the sun. She saw the herds of goats and listened to their glories and grousing as they strolled across the rugged rocky hillsides. She heard the birds singing loudly, proclaiming their desire, their prowess, their blustery boasts. She swam in the oceans naked beneath the smiling sun. She was certain then that she would never leave this blessed isle.
In those moments, she understood completely her place in the world, her duty and her destiny. And at the center of it all was her mother. She was everything to the little Liandra. She was her world and in her face, the little priestess saw the divine.
But all that came crashing down as the sun left the sky that day. She received word of what had happened only many hours later, only after night had finally fallen. The Keeper of the Sacred Flame, Lady Konstantina, gave her the news.
"Your mother is dead, little one," said the tearful keeper. "Cassandra died a hero. She saved the kingdom and our temple from a great evil that no one else saw. You should be proud."
But Liandra wasn't proud. She was angry. She was betrayed. How could she leave her? She wept wild and inconsolable tears until dawn. Only over the course of years did she come to understand what had really happened. She learned the truth that no one wanted to tell her. Her mother's murderer had escaped!
Arion Three-Eyes was alive. He was out there somewhere and no one could say where. The wizard had evidently been aware that Cassandra was coming for him. He probably planned to entrap and enslave her as well. But just in case that didn't work, he had a ship ready and waiting in the harbor. He was all too well prepared to escape the justice that he so richly deserved.
What Cassandra succeeded at doing was facing the wizard in the presence of the enthralled king. She resisted the wizard's mind control and, as she stabbed Arion with her dagger and forced him to flee, broke his control over the king and his councilors. She saved everyone but not before the wizard stabbed her with a poisoned blade of his own.
