Air whispered across flesh that had felt nothing for what seemed an eternity. Unfamiliar senses assaulted. Touch. Smell. Sound. He recalled them from what seemed another life, but experienced them on the level of a newborn. The mail coat that hung heavy across his shoulders, framed by sable hair, felt proper, its presence comforting. His surroundings, however, did not.
Intricate Egyptian hieroglyphs were etched into the floor beneath him, following the rim of a circular pattern carved into the stone. Resting in the center of the diagram, he was illuminated by candles placed along its rim. Beyond the candlelight, the room was shrouded in a black veil.
Testing his legs, he stood, then flexed his arms, wincing when the unused muscles clenched. Stumbling forward, disoriented, he caught himself against a pillar. He could smell the dust and decay of ages and hear the faint rustling of cloth as something moved in the shadows beyond his sight, but he tried in vain to penetrate the darkness and catch a glimpse of his stalker.
“It‘s about time you awakened,” a feminine voice said, its tone sweet, threatening.
Instinctively reaching for his scabbard, he was surprised to find it attached and a scimitar resting within. Drawing the weapon, he scanned the length of its blade before closing his eyes and exiting the circle, knowing sight was useless. Instead, he probed the darkness with his hearing, waiting for the padded descent of bare feet or the swish of his assailant’s garment.
“Can you remember who you are?” the voice issued from behind him.
He struck in the direction he had heard her speak. His blade met nothing but air. Cursing beneath his breath, he adjusted his grip on the sword’s hilt, withdrawing each hand to dry them on his armor’s leather skirt.
“So, you want to play,” she taunted, her voice echoing.
He opened his eyes and gave a frustrated growl, nearly as blind as he had been with them closed. Without warning, she descended on him, the darkness cloaking her even at close quarters. Despite his efforts to maintain his footing, he reeled backwards under the ferocity of her assault, hitting the dust-covered floor with a thud. She was gone before he even hit the ground.
“You’re still so fragile,” she crooned, mocking him.
He laid where he had fallen, sword clutched tight, eyes wide and alert. His hands trembled. Drip, drip—sweat rolled off his palms and pooled beside him. This time, when he saw movement, he surged upwards and struck. His blade met resistance! Hissing, the woman withdrew. A bleeding and twisted hand landed inches from his feet, its parchment-like skin quivering. He recoiled from the severed limb in disgust.
The hand burst into life as he tried to pull away, using its fingers to pursue him. Using his skin for leverage, it ascended the length of his leg, then abdomen, finally reaching his throat. Despite being severed at the wrist, it grasped his neck with Herculean strength, piercing the exposed flesh and drawing blood. Pain lanced through his neck and shoulders and he stumbled backwards. Forgotten in a desperate need to preserve his life, he dropped the scimitar, clasping the talon with both hands. Jerking in vain, his tugging only served to draw the creature’s claws deeper and constrict his airway. His chest heaved in a struggling, futile attempt to restore breathing.
“Fool,” she said, “ you’re fighting to preserve yourself against a weakness you no longer have.”
The hand’s movement ended as abruptly as it had begun, though it remained fixed against his throat, immobile despite the monumental effort he continued to apply.
He could hear metal scraping against stone, then a brief clatter as his sword struck a wall somewhere in the darkness. Like a blanket, the shadows receded, replaced by a faint silver glow that bathed the hall from end to end. Raising his arm to shield his eyes, he failed to see where the light was coming from, but could make out the room’s other inhabitant walking towards him.
Heartless jade-green eyes glared down at him as she approached, his own, dark blue, retreating beneath their gaze. Dressed in a black gown, he was unsurprised she had blended so well, for her hair and garment were as black as night. As she drew closer, the light intensified and he could make out small, silver orbs hovering just above her skin, the source of the room’s illumination. The surface of her skin seemed to shine with a supernatural, silvery glow of its own.
“You’re breathing by reflex,” she continued.
She gestured toward him, causing the claw grasping his throat to crumble to dust. He noticed that both of her hands were intact, even though the monstrosity she had called off had been evidence of a wound.
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice cracking and his hands trembling.
“My name is of little relevance,” she said, “but call me Taure if you must. You’re here because I chose you, Kashin.”
“Kashin?” he repeated, pausing.
He recognized his name. His memories seemed in reach, about to be clarified, only to slip away, leaving him lost. He could only grasp a single fact; he had died.
“I should be dead,” he said.
“You were dead,” she corrected him.
She cleared the remaining distance between them, placing her hand on his head. The pain from the talon that had gripped him still radiated from the base of his neck, the memory of it causing him to jerk away. She closed her fingers as he pulled, using his hair to keep him still. He struggled only briefly, the will to resist leaving him as a deep calm passed over his mind. Once he stopped trying to free himself, her grip slackened. In moments, he saw no more and his sense of self collapsed, sending him into a void.
###
She was gone. The subterranean vault where he had met her was gone.
He could feel the heat of the sun against his back, and make out the coarse stone beneath his feet. He could hear the angry cries of the crowd gathered below, nothing but a sea of stairs separating them. He watched as a man, the exact image of himself, resplendent in the unmistakable garb of a high priest, pulled free of the grasp of a beautiful Egyptian woman and stalked forward, radiating confidence. Neither the crowd nor the man seemed to take notice of him. He watched as a scene that seemed familiar, though he could recall nothing, played out in realistic detail.
“You dare to face me?” the replica challenged the mass below, unsheathing his blade. “You dare to face a god?”
Though no one moved, the shouts died noticeably. No one dared to respond. The foremost figures of the group, priests of Ptah from their garb, sank deeper into the safety of the crowd. The mass itself seemed to shrink further and further away from the staircase as the priest began his descent, sword in hand.
Glaring at the crowd below, he stalked toward them with the surety of a lion moving to finish off its wounded prey. His descent was methodical, each movement agonizingly slow as if to torture the mass below.
The confrontation never came.
A youth drew away from the crowd’s main body and stepped forward, a large rock in hand. The crowd’s silence hung heavy and no one made a move to interfere. Narrowing his eyes, the boy hurled the stone.
“No!” Kashin cried, sprinting forward in a desperate attempt to reach the high priest.
You can do nothing to change your past, Taure’s voice echoed within his mind. Caught in the moment, he shoved her words aside even before he had time to comprehend them. He felt an intimate connection to the priest that he could not place, akin to adoration.
Throwing himself down the stairs, oblivious of his own safety, Kashin grasped for the figure’s arm. His hand passed through the priest, his body following shortly after. With nothing to stop his momentum, he plunged forward, tumbling down the stairs to land at the feet of the gathered crowd. They took no notice of him, all eyes pinned to the scene above.
The priest released the hilt of his scimitar, causing it to slide down the stairs in a direct path for Kashin. Before he had time to react, the blade was upon him. The sword passed through his body, leaving him unharmed, and into the hands of the boy from the crowd. The exultant youth brandished his treasure with a cry of triumph.
The priest’s ankle twisted, the snap audible over the silence of the crowd and the woman above. His features, once the face of an arrogant conqueror, twisted in agonizing pain. He toppled downward, his head slamming against the edge of a stair and knocking him unconscious. His body continued its descent, each impact battering and contorting his limbs and head. By the time he reached the base of the stairs, he was dead.
The crowd surged forward, their persecutor beaten by providence. Cold to the honor normally shown the dead, they began ripping at his armor and body, hoisting the naked corpse over their heads. The group dispersed as quickly as they had gathered, the rites of mourning gradually becoming a festival in honor of his death.
Kashin lay at the base of the stairs, watching in horror as they carried the beaten corpse away. A profound sense of loss clouded his mind and he knew only rage. Standing, he was about to follow them to exact what revenge a spirit could when the scene darkened and he was cast once more into the void.
###
“You can do nothing to change your past,” she repeated, this time standing before him in the familiar vault.
Releasing his head, she stepped back, glaring down at him. Kashin’s body shook beneath her gaze, more in pain than fear. The wounds he had avoided in the dream were now reality. Fresh blood poured from a gaping hole in his chest, where the sword had passed, and his body was scuffed from his rough descent down the stairs. He could still feel the heat of the sun bearing down on him, even though the chamber was dark but for the light from Taure‘s skin. The orbs that had accompanied her were gone.
“You’ll heal,” she consoled him, when he failed to respond.
“What are you?” he hissed, his eyes closed. “What have you made me?”
“I‘ve made you what you dreamed of being,” she said without hesitance. “I’ve given you the power to enforce what you once believed you were. I’ve given you a taste of the powers of the gods.”
She paused, giving him an opening to speak before she continued.
“Your power comes with a price,” she said at length. “A price to which you’re enslaved, for your very survival depends on it. So long as you serve me, you will live, but know that I can take your life as easily as I’ve returned it.”
“And if I refuse, or rebel?”
He caught the faint outline of a smile as he gazed up at her, but her face was soon hidden as she stepped away from him and turned. As she walked away, the glow of her skin died and the shadows returned. Momentarily, he lost sight of her and could hear nothing save her voice, echoing back to him through the cavern.
“You’ll never strike at me directly, as this is the last time we’ll meet in person,” she said, “but refusal to embrace the force that now drives you will result in your second, permanent death. Your path is a dark one, but not one that is without reward.”
###
Using a nearby pillar for support, Kashin struggled to his feet. His entire body shuddered as a wave of pain passed over it, the wound in his chest opening anew. He stared into the darkness through clenched eyes to make sure she was truly gone.
After a few moments of silence, he released a sigh of relief, the tension in his muscles slackening and his body visibly relaxing. Carefully, he moved two fingers along the edge of the wound in his chest. Tiny rivulets of blood still escaped the injury, but the gushing stream it had been had stopped. Moving his hand downwards, he felt along his lower abdomen and across his waist, searching for wounds. To his surprise, the hole in his chest was the only major one that remained.
Releasing the pillar, he stumbled forward, nearly collapsing from the sudden wave of dizziness that overtook him. He paused, collecting his sword before continuing on, this time slow and intent. Gradually, he headed in the direction he had seen the woman vanish, hoping he could find an exit. He longed to be free of the suffocating darkness of the vault and to feel the warmth of the sun.
“Damnit!” He hissed as his foot slammed against a rise in the stone and sent him tumbling to land face-first onto a flight of steps. Sunlight came from the top of the first flight and he could see that the dust covering them was undisturbed by Taure’s passage.
He stood and forced himself to ascend the staircase. Though his entire body ached and his limbs almost refused to respond, he felt invigorated as he left the staircase behind and entered a small cave. The other end of the natural hall exited into daylight and, from what he could tell, open woods. Fresh air blew across his hair and armor as he hurried forward.
Both arms raised toward the sun as if to embrace it, he exited the cave. The supernatural chill he had felt clinging to him since he first awoke in the vault was banished once he entered the light. His joy was short-lived, however, when his skin began to boil and wither beneath the sun’s intensity, tiny plumes of smoke rising from his flesh.
Throwing himself backwards, he withdrew into the cold cavern, his hands sliding frantically across his face and neck. He could feel the damage done to his skin and knew that he would have burst into flame with longer exposure. Already, the folds caused by the heat were beginning to smooth themselves over, the damaged flesh regenerating.
Remember the warmth of the sun from your dreams, for it is the only place you will see and feel it, Taure’s voice echoed in his mind.
With a heavy sigh, he sank against the stone wall, taking in his surroundings.
It was then he noticed her.
Her makeup and hair were still as immaculate as they had been in the vision granted to him by Taure. She, if nothing else, was proof that the dream had once been reality. He had watched the priest pull forcefully away from the woman and stalk forward to face the murderous crowd below. She had seemed nearly as stoic as the priest himself, as fierce as any man. Now she lay unconscious and helpless, her hands bound and a papyrus note resting in the lap of her elaborate gown.
Grunting, he stood and walked to her, removing the letter from her lap. The finely-chiseled sentences, written in a flowing script, were as cold as their author:
If you are to fully embrace your new life, you must first do away with everything related to your old. This girl, your former lover, is a relic of your past; kill her.
He read over the document without hesitation, not even pausing when his connection to the girl was made clear. Once-taboo thoughts slipped their way into his mind with ease. Whatever emotion he had had for her in life was gone.
Brushing a hand across her cheek, he swept her hair over her shoulder to reveal her neck. Slipping one arm around her waist, he jerked, thrusting her against him. She fell limp against his arm, allowing him easier access to her throat. Drawing a dagger from his belt, he drew it across the flesh over her artery, leaving a tiny red trail in its wake. Still, he hesitated. At the sight of blood, even with his dulled inhibitions, he could not bring himself to cut deeper. His hand trembled, the knife slipping free and to the floor.
“Fool“, a voice hissed in his ear, the message repeating moments later within his mind.
Before he was able to register what had been said, unseen hands grabbed him from behind. With a sharp jerk, they propelled him away from the woman and against the wall opposite her. He slammed against the stone with a dull thud, a jagged rock connecting with his head. Beneath the force of the blow, his skull shattered, causing his vision to fragment in unison with the bone.
“Resist for now if you can, but her life is forfeit. You’ve only managed to prolong her suffering.”
He watched, fighting to stay conscious, as the woman’s formerly-inanimate body hovered from where it had been dropped and stood upright. Unsure whether it was a trick of his stricken mind or reality, her body began to twist, contorting her into a ball in midair. Gradually, she began to shrink, her skin shimmering when touched by what little light made it into the cave. Losing its luster, her hair retained its former color but took on a plantlike texture and appearance.
The transformation complete, she fell once more to the floor, a diminutive doll. He fought against the cloud overtaking his vision just long enough to see the toy slowly rise to its feet and stumble, unsure of its ability to walk. Glass-like eyes stared emotionless, their depths filled with flame.
Succumbing to his injuries, he passed into unconsciousness amid the clatter of clay against stone.
###
“Curse or gift,” Taure began, her voice carrying from all directions..
He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came. At the sound of her speaking, he sought to move, but found that his arms and legs refused to respond. The cave where he had passed out was gone. In their place was an endless abyss, void of walls or even a floor. He could see nothing save his body, drifting immobile.
“Consider it what you will,” she continued, “but it is done. You are My agent, an extension of My will. When I command you, I expect you to act as directed. Considering what I‘ve given you, it‘s only my due.”
Her voice died away as quickly as it had come. He could feel her hold on his mind gradually ease, allowing unconsciousness to return.
###
When Kashin awoke, it was night.
A cool breeze still passed through the cave’s entrance, before exiting down the stairs and into the tunnel below. He struggled to his feet, only half-noting that his head no longer hurt. At first, he could make out nothing, trying in vain to see where the doll had gone. He momentarily considered returning to the vault to search for the girl. Not wanting to risk another encounter with Taure, though, he made for the cave’s entrance and stumbled into the night. Ignoring the dark green trees and grass around him, he broke into a sprint, trying to put as much distance between himself and the underground vault as possible.
The air rapidly turned colder and the trees grew sparse, no longer shielding him from the desert winds. As he neared the edge of the oasis and the vegetation thinned, he could make out sand dunes ahead. He imagined that he could hear footsteps behind him, but lacked the courage to gaze back until, clearing the foliage, he collapsed face-first into the sand. Shoving himself onto his knees, he turned to face his pursuer.
Where the oasis should have been, there was nothing but an endless sea of sand. A fierce wind forced its way through the maze of hills that rose to either side of him, blowing small clouds of dust across their surface, but there was no sign of flora or fauna.
He was alone.
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