Her brother never seemed to regard their mother as anything but a whisper on the wind. But then, he was much more popular than Freya would ever be. Freyr's name meant 'foremost of the gods' and he certainly was. The god was hated by none. Followed incessantly, his every word was regarded as a blessing. When children, the two would argue but it was always lighthearted and lacked malice.
One night when she was older, her husband Odr crept out of their lodging in the middle of the night and left Freya, alone with their daughter Hnoss. A couple of times before, Odr had tried to leave and she'd blocked the door. Fixing him with that look that even he couldn't resist. Her golden hair down, just covering her bare nipples, hands at her sides so his eyes could see the blonde pubic hair that she carefully trimmed and anointed with oils.
"It's not right for you to keep me here woman."
"Why not?" She'd say. "What other goddesses can give you what I have?"
He knew she referred to the seidr. Her power to weave destiny in any number of ways. It was the magic that made her both exalted and scorned everywhere she went.
So he would stay. For awhile. But unavoidably, the restlessness would again build in him and he'd long to be free. She knew the real reason he wanted to run away. It had nothing to do with herself or Hnoss. Oh, she knew stagnation made him bored and unfulfilled. But this went beyond that. Odr had begun to hate himself. He never ate with enthusiasm anymore, preferring to pick silently at his food like a child, he refused to wash subjecting her to the stink of animal and dirt when he stared listlessly into the hearth.
Odr began to sense her own unease and that only made the gulf between them harder to bridge. She could have gone on, waiting for him to come out of the darkness that he'd entered had she not followed him one night after he'd left on one of his short excursions. Transforming herself into a falcon, the goddess had perched herself aloft on a tree branch overlooking a newly returned hunting party. Odr had been there. Sitting around the fire like a typical man, the god had shared in their storytelling and ate from their hunt. Again, the fire was in his soul, the passion in his heart. As her small eyes darted around the landscape, and she felt the chilly winter winds through her plumes, she knew that Odr was tired of being a god. He longed to have a mortal life. She remembered herself as a child. Staying just out of the firelight while warriors told stories and she weaved seidr. And she understood. How much like her he truly was. And so, perched up in that tree, Freya's heart embraced yet withered to Odr. A part of him she loved insatiably for it was the part most like herself. But another part closed off to him forever because he was unable to see past his own sufferings. A couple of times, he had glanced up to where she was, her falcon head cocked to the side, hard steely claws gripping the tree branch. He had stared up at her, something like recognition in his weary eyes. But Freya had remained still, an ocean of empathy weaving through the campsite. He must have felt it, intuited her permission to leave because Freya never saw him again. When she returned home, she sat wooden as a statue, great golden tears running down her face. If anybody could have seen, she would have appeared to be a perfect masthead for a ship. Her tears carving riveted canals into the oak. She sat in silence in his chair and stared off into a fire that had burned into embers. The next morning Hnoss had wept uncontrollably. It was the first time in her existence that she'd had to cope with something that her mother couldn't fix. She had known that something had happened to her father, had seen the stony way he looked into the fire, heard the hushed arguments with her mother late at night. This was something she never shared with Freya, not even after Ord had gone. She had known it would happen. Or something similar. But there was more. Hnoss began to, like her mother, see the interlaced lines of light around others. She knew what lines could be plucked or moved to change the fortune of anybody around her. Hnoss did not yet know the word seidr or what destiny was but she understood it. Just like she knew that her mother would soon leave as well. Asked for her perceptions of all these things, the child could never have explained it and that only added to the terrible sense of defeat that she experienced. It was a short time later, when Hnoss was entering adulthood that her mother too stepped out in the chilly winter night and never came back.
Freya left the domicile. The last remnants of light had left the sky. She was happy for the first time in many years. Walking through the snow tundra with her furs and a small pack for provisions, she headed down the icy slope towards the many villages that sprawled on the Nordic landscape. Her mind spoke up. This is it. This is where the seidr has taken you. Alone, no husband, wandering like a beggar. The voice in her mind wanted to chastise, to tell her turn back and go home. Ord would come back eventually. But at the same time, she'd never felt this heart racing sense of adventure. She could barely feel the frozen wind and as she stepped lightly on the snow she doubted it even left a bootprint. A single thought filled her mind: If the seidr could be used for sustenance she could wander her gorgeous land forever. She would tell fortunes in exchange for food and lodging. It was such a simple idea. She knew it would work. How could it not? She had been spinning threads of fate since she was a child. If she used her power for trade , she would receive the most beautiful of life's possessions, the most savory of hens and the ripest of vegetables. Men would clamour for her. They would beg and so too their wives. She'd never be with naught. I can do these things. She thought.
It had not been the first time Freya had considered weaving destiny in her favor. But Ord had forbidden it . "You will spin your own demise. Not all fortunes can be rich and they'll blame you. They will blame you." She heard his voice in her head echoing like a bell. Still she persisted. They will adore their lady. She thought, trudging through the ice. She made it to the first town just before sunset the following day. Damp and shivering, she approached a band of hunters. much like the ones Ord had sat with all those years ago. If it hadn't been for the grumblings in her stomach and parched tongue she might have skipped this particular lot altogether. She could tell they had been out for many days without much success. There was meat on the fire but it was thin, probably injured. An easy kill. A beggar's kill. Still, a beggar's kill is a belly full. She thought.
There were perhaps a couple hundred people living in this hamlet. A dozen or more modest hut's had been erected somewhat shabbily which implied haste. They were new to the area and had set up in a race with winter. Freya took a seat next to the men and smiled.
Her face immediately got their attention. Whether from the blue of her eyes or the flush in her cheeks that made her seem like she'd just finished making love, all heads turned to her.
"You're gonna give me a leg of that hen." Freya said.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes."
"And why is that? Because you're going to offer up some leg of my own later tonight?"
The men laughed. Even Freya laughed. She had actually considered the idea but dismissed it on account of exhaustion.
"No, because I'm volva. A practicer of seidr."
She said it simply, as if she'd just told them her name. She half expected a response akin to her telling them she was goddess. Instead, what she got was the opposite.
These men believed in volva. They sat hushed, faces skeptical as to whether she was, in fact, insulting them. But they were weary, perhaps more exhausted than she. Above all else though, they were hopeful. They needed to believe
"I will spin for you in the morrow. And your fortunes will change. You and your families will have food this winter."
The men began to quiver, hopeless skepticism still in their eyes but they took a leg off the smoldering fire and gave it to her. She ate quickly, wiping her mouth with the back of a furred glove. When she finished, she looked up to find them staring at her. Did they suspect? She wondered if her godhood was obvious or perhaps she had accidentally sprouted falcon wings as she ate. But it wasn't that. They wanted the seidr.
So later that night, Freya went into one of the huts and sat down to weave. She did it efficiently, running the thread through her deft fingers, feeling its softness on her palm, the tightness as she weaved it into a new pattern. All the while, she spoke to it aloud, coaxing it to bend to her will. "These men have been gracious. They fed your lady with little they had. Now you will move in their fortune."
She felt the seidr as golden light in her hands. Almost as if she were brushing her own hair. The threads warmed, pulsating under her control.
"Their harvest will be plenty. Their families content. Their fate has shifted, you do this for your lady."
Freya went on like this for perhaps three quarters of an hour. Outside the door, more than a few had propped their heads against the door, listening in on the strange woman who weaved in the middle of the night.
When she finished, she was given a warm bath. Fresh ale in her belly, she sat in a small wicker chair and ran her fingers through her golden locks, untangling any knots that had formed while travelling. Still humming to the seidr, Freya dropped her gown and lay naked on the bed. Her arms outstretched, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning the hunting party went back out well before dawn. It was a cold morning, with the hardness of winter just weeks away. They knew that death's ghostly hand (Who is nordic god of death etc...) was destined for much of the young if food wasn't procured in a hurry. It wasn't something that was stated out loud but mother's held their children a little tighter.
Freya awoke with the sun warming her eyelids. She lay back, her muscles stretched, the aches and pains a memory. She sat up and dressed taking care to put her hair in a braid. She did it slowly as she had the seidr. Her hair felt soft as butter this morning, her skin glowed with youthful vigor. She could almost feel changes in the air. The day was warmer than it had been. Outside the door, she heard chatter as folks went about their daily routine.
Then came the elation. It began with the first glimpse of the hunting party (make this a character, who came back to camp etc...) still hundreds of yards in the distance. Standing out there, overlooking a lush plateau of frosted glades, the men trudged back with their bounty. It was enormous. The men shouldered weeks, maybe months of food. There were rabbits, hens, and deer all knotted together and secured on their backs what couldn't be carried in burlap. One of them smiled (who? his name?) and for a moment she saw Odr. It was quick, perhaps only a second, but Freya glimpsed her beloved and longed again for his embrace. She kicked her heel, threw back the hunt flaps and began to collect her things.
"Where are you going?" One of the women cried.
There was a long pause. There was a soft clicking out in the wood.
"I cannot stay."
She worked her furs on, her voice a quaver. "I need to move on."
Avoiding their eyes, the Lady stepped out into the snow and shuffled off.
This was how the legend of Freya's seidr began to circulate all through the Scandinavian countryside. Tales were spoken around the fire in hushed voices as if imparting a secret. And word travelled fast. Soon, all the land knew of the traveling goddess. She stopped in numerous places, each time weaving for harvest, or conquest, or love. Sometimes the seidr was meant to bring about a marriage, other times death. And each time she was successful.
But not all the time was she welcomed. In many villages she was looked at with grim fear and scorn. Freya knew why. Perhaps it wasn't her place to weave the fortunes of man. But if it wasn't her place then whose was it? Her amorous liaisons didn't help matters either. Amorous liaisons rarely did. Since Odr's abandonment, Freya had been visited by most of the gods on her travels. They would come to her at night. They would pull her hair out of its braid, they would undress her. Freya loved these moments of rapid breathing and sweaty gasps. She moaned loudly, letting her cries echo into the night. Then one night Loki came to her.
"What are you doing?" He chastised.
"Anything I want." She replied hoarsely.
He looked around her domicile at the gifts that had accumulated in all corners of the room. He stepped over a trio of cats and faced her. "You will have all the gods is that it? Deny none into your bed?"
Freya's eyes wide and expressionless, she lashed out a hand, Loki didn't see it coming and staggered to stay upright. "Careful what you say trickster." Her tone low and rumbling like a dark cloud that had yet to unleash thunder. He went to the door and looked back, "Odr has disappeared."
"My husband disappeared long ago. I don't know where he is."
"Nobody knows where he is."
Freya paused. Suddenly her stomach felt empty. Her throat dry and sore.
"And your brother as well."
"Freyr?"
"Gone."
It was Freya's turn to stagger back and into the wall. What did you do trickster? What game have you entered into? You wouldn't come here unless you thought to include me in one of your schemes or you were genuinely afraid. Gods know your sense fear is eschewed. But still.
Freya looked at the angular, pointed face of the god of mischief. His large oval eyes darting from the floor to the walls. He looked like one of her cats trapped in a box. What could possibly make Loki panic aside from maybe Odr himself?
"They are disappearing my Lady. All of them. The gods are vanishing."
She repeated what he said. I don't believe you Loki. This is you Loki. This is another of your games. "Why are you telling me these things?"
He stepped out and disappeared into the night. Not long after he disappeared from Yggdrasil altogether.
The queen clenched her fists. All around her leaves were kicked up in a sudden wind that blew like dust devils through the trees and grasses. "Do you hear me Knonsu!" Isis bellowed. And he had. But something else had as well. Virtually invisible in the dark, a tiny scorpion made its way onto the island of reeds. It labored over hilly mounds, working its tiny legs until it reached a stalk and crawled up. There it stayed. A tiny speck that gazed out with cold, defiant eyes. The scorpion drew closer, moving under the tall reeds towards the infant left unprotected. Easy prey. The scorpion thought. Its inner voice a high squeaking timbre. The child will never grow. No clemency. It was a compulsion. His actions weren't motivated by tedious spite or jealousy. They were something he could not control. So he continued closer and closer until he reached where the child lay.
Outside, his mother continued to pray. Her voice would be heard miles away on this night. It would carry on the wind like peals of thunder. Many would hear the lament, becoming terrified as Isis shook their tiny homes. It all mattered. The little scorpion knew this. This was what had to be done. For his own sake and for the sake of upper Egypt. He could smell the baby now as he entered the crib. Oils and incense marked the royal baby. It won't be long now. The scorpion slowly crawled down into the cradle. Its legs touched the linen that wrapped the boy tight. He burrowed a little deeper and came to bare skin. Ah, the mother is too late. Khonsu failed.The scorpion's tail raised, stinger pointed toward the abdomen. Still expecting to be stricken down, he waited another half second. Then he brought the tail down and pierced the skin of the child Horus.
Isis shrieked when she heard the cry of her baby. She was thinking about her husband, exactly as she had been thinking of him the night the sarcophagus lid came crashing down with a whoosh. It had been a dark trick, A cruel one. The night had seemed so alive, so utterly perfect. And it had all gone so wrong.
The hurt cries of her son brought her back around. She held the baby to her chest as his face discolored turning a bluish hue. Her sobs uncontrollable, her whole body was racked with spasms. She shook and swayed like the papyrus reeds outside. Her son had stopped crying. Now, he lay still, small gurgles coming from his throat. Isis bent until her face was on the little boy's chest. She felt him stop breathing. She heard a gasp emit softly and his eyes fixed on her as he entered the duat. Isis gasped too. As she watched Horus die, her mind became tangled. She felt it all begin to slip, a madness born of trauma. The young mother yanked on her braids, tried to claw her own face.
"Thoth!" She shrieked.
At once, he stood before her. His ibis face turned toward the child. He stood close to six feet, a towering inhuman presence. She smelled his oils and felt his breath in her inner ear.
"He did it!" She cried. "He killed my baby!"
Thoth glanced to the crack where the scorpion had exited the hut. Isis followed his gaze then turned blazing eyes on him. "How could this be? He killed my son just as he killed my husband!"
Thoth bent to the child and Isis got the impression that he was smiling underneath the Ibis visage. She snatched the child away and took an involuntary step backward.Thoth took off the mask and stood erect. A round face with prominent jowls peered down through milky cataract covered eyes.
"The child will live again. Let him have some time. As we speak, he is with his father. His spirit is in the duat. But he'll come back."
"How will I know?"
"You will know at Heliopolis. Go to the great obelisk. You know which one I mean, yes?"
"Yes."
"Go there. The child will come as a Bennu. Watch the bird. As it perches on the obelisk, Ra's glance will cinder it to ashes. But a new Bennu will rise, and with it the spirit of your child."
This seemed to placate Isis, at least for a moment. But her grief and terror soon gave way to rage. "He must be dealt with. Set cannot rule."
Thoth turned away from her.
"He cannot rule! She said again.
He peered hesitantly at Isis. He then walked out to the trees and stopped. His back to the queen, he marched over a small hill, his sandals kicking up dead leaves. Before long, he had climbed a second then a third hill. Isis watched until he was a dark speck on the jungle floor. She thought it look like a blemish.
Isis probed ahead with her torch until a gust of stale air threatened to blow out the flame. Slowing, she peered into the cave that by now was as terrifying as the duat itself. She shivered, tiny bumps rising up on her arms. Cautiously, she took a few more steps. She could almost hear singing? Tucking her hair behind her ear, she arched forward like Nuit and strained. Yes. There was singing coming from further in. She took a few more short steps, the cave opened up a little more and she was relieved at the extra space. The singing was still there, a soft melody on the wind. It was a child's song. A song that all mothers taught their young.
Isis turned a sharp corner and emerged into a passage that was lined in light. Torches on both sides of the cave walls acted as beacons to an even larger chamber up ahead. There were small alcoves on either side, the floor cleared it reminded her of a temple.Oh, I see what you're doing here sister. She thought. The passage led into another room which then led to a set of stairs. They were steep, a sharp angle further into the cave complex. As she climbed, her legs grew tired, her breath short. Soon, she came to another gigantic passage that had been cleared away and lit with fire. There were visions painted on the walls. she saw them become animate in the flickers of torch light. She sniffed and smelled incense.
"Sister? Nephthys can you hear me?"
As she had always practiced, Isis held her breath as she listened into the cave. Slowly exhaling in steady controlled breaths, she turned her head toward the passage entrance. There was no apparent danger here. That didn't mean Set wasn't lurking around a corner waiting for the right moment to strike though. Still, if he were here, It's likely she wouldn't have heard the singing. That had clearly been Anubis which meant his mother was closeby.
"Nephthys?" She called out.
"Hush." A voice said from around the corner. Isis scattered the dust with her feet as she lunged forward and threw her arms around her sister. She felt Nephthys gasp and laugh a little. Then little Anubis was there, as tall as his mother's hip and grinning widely.
"Hello Anubis." She called out.
Isis moved out of the crevasse and into the larger chamber noting that there were passages leading away from all four directions. A perfect place to flee an attacker if need be. Isis crossed to one of the torches and looked at Nephthys in the light. She hadn't been beaten but dark, baggy circles framed her eyes. Her thin arms and torso also indicated lack of eating.
"Has he reached out?"
"He has no idea where we are. We fled immediately. But I saw his face, Isis." Her voice cracked. "I saw his face when the sarcophagus closed. He was afraid."
"I know." The memory shook her again as if she'd just witnessed it. My husband. She thought biting back her tears.
"And Set?"
"I have no idea."
"He fights to rule. A council is being held in the wake of Osiris' stead."
"I know of it."
"He will usurp the gods and rule Egypt into wasteland. It will be stark and dead."
Nephthys shook her head. "My husband will not rule. Set cannot be allowed to justify his treachery. "
Isis agreed. Leaning forward, she touched Nephthys forehead with her own, shutting her eyes tight. She felt more than heard the incantation as it came into being. Nephthys spoke it softly, as if wary of letting Anubis hear it in completion. Isis ran her fingers through her hair and noticed a change, the air was excited. It sizzled and crackled as if by fire. Isis staggered and reached up to her face. She could tell by the look in Anubis's eyes that the shift had taken place. She felt her eyelids, the sharp angular contours of her jawline, the thin pouty lips of her mouth and knew that they were not hers at all. Nephthys stared forward into her own face and gasped. She turned Anubis around so that he was facing her. The child was bewildered.
"My Queen, are you alright?"
"Yes." Isis answered.
She cast the torch once more around Nephthys and smiled. "Thank you." She whispered.
The moon was as full as a silver coin when Isis reached the ferryman. She wore the headdress that was shaped like a basket. It was Nephthys's favorite and one that she wore often. She felt a tightness in her chest and knew it was nerves. The disguise would work. It must. She thought. But she knew this was just the first step. The real gamble would come later when she approached Set. If she failed then, all would be lost.
She ran her fingers through the lush green of the sahara, could feel the moisture in the ground even through her sandals. She came to the river, its body strong this time of year. The ferry bucked and bobbed. Isis heard its creaking. Keeping her eyes on the ferryman, she mounted the small barge. The ferryman took her by the arm and pulled her back onto shore. "I cannot take you to the council."
His wiry frame was stronger than Isis suspected and even after he let go, she felt his grip on her arm. She looked into his green eyes and scoffed. "I have not been denied entrance."
"The council began yesterday. Yesterday they established who will rule Egypt."
"The established nothing. And I have something to say on the matter."
"I bet you do."
"I come on behalf of Horus, the son of Osiris and Isis."
The ferryman swept his torch left and right. He stepped forward, checking behind the trees just off shore.
"She isn't here." Isis said. "The Queen is forbidden to sit in the council, that's why I'm here."
"Nephthys, Set will be beside himself."
"My husband will get over it. The child deserves representation too."
"He will likely kill you."
Her heart thumping in her chest, Isis slipped a hand into her satchel and pulled out a great golden feather. She spoke softly: "Set will not kill me. Take me to the council door ferryman and I will give you this feather as a token of my love and gratitude."
"It is - ostrich?"
"Yes."
"Nephthys I cannot accept it. It is too much."
"It's not and you will."
The ferryman took the golden feather and held it up to the moonlight. He marveled at it as he ran fingers across its golden polish. Isis leaned close. "Shouldn't we be on our way by now?"
The ferryman heard the unspoken plea, the appeal to board. All he could say was: "Come."
Isis boarded the ferry and stared down at the shimmering sheet of water. Her heart uncertain, she willed the gods for enough resolve to see this chicanery through.
When Isis reached the shore, she was unnerved to find no one there to meet her. She spied up and down the shoreline but no attack party was there. The ferryman had been true to his word. She glanced back and held up her left hand. The ferryman responded by bowing low, as if to royalty. Isis swallowed hard as the ferryman floated into the darkness. He took out his ostrich feather and held it close, brushing at the gold as if it were an actual bird feather. Could he have known? Isis clumsily checked her face to make sure the Heka hadn't dissolved. It was there. She was still Nephthys to everybody around her.
Isis adjusted her headdress and chewed her bottom lip. The worry that surged through her now said that the most dangerous moment was at hand. This increased awareness gave her clarity. A steady push to see it through whatever the cost. Her teeth chattered as she slipped into the temple and was by Set. His lanky arms and dark eyes covered in an exquisite blue robe, his bald head recently oiled and perfumed.
"I would have sent for you on the morrow after the coronation."
"Do you wish me to leave and come back when summoned, my King?"
A cynical look came over Set. When he spoke it was harsh, "I would have expected you to be consoling the widow."
"Of course not." Isis said quickly. "She is the reason I arrived late. Her magic kept me occupied at the ferry or I would have been here yesterday."
Set looked at the body of Nephthys, her thin legs slightly exposed through a slit in the emerald green dress she wore. "Why don't you drink something?"
"Of course." Isis replied sweetly. "Just waiting for my husband to offer me something."
It had worked. Nephthy's heka had disguised her well enough to fool even Set. Isis felt a swelling of confidence and sat a little straighter, haughtier than she had before.She saw Set's eyes on her and shifted so her thigh was exposed to the god. She saw his eyes linger, he wetted his lips. "Come here."
Isis felt a twinge of fear in her stomach. She took two steps forward, her large eyes wide and uncertain. Set was much too close for her to adequately defend herself had he decided to strangle her. Which is surely what would happen if he knew who was behind Nephthys's olive colored eyes. The realization of this also seemed to calm Isis as she felt his hands run up her thighs, across her buttocks, and up her back. Slowly, he untied the knots across her waist and neck and pulled off the gown. Isis stood staring ahead. An inner warning pumped adrenaline into her when she felt his mouth on her breast. She fought the urge to pull away, to run screaming. Set probed her nipple with his tongue, swirling it around and taking it between his teeth.
"Not yet." She gasped.
Set did not respond. He pulled her close until she straddled him on the chair. He grabbed her by both arms and forced them behind her back. She felt his stiff penis underneath her, and choked back a cry. Isis saw the face of her beloved Osiris. She saw her husband as he was on the day Set betrayed and dismembered him. It was too much. She writhed out of his grasp.
"Wait!" She nearly screamed.
Set frowned. In the abrupt silence, he pushed her off of him. He spat on the ground in front of him. "What is wrong, wife?"
Isis put a finger to her lip. "You must promise me something first."
"Promise you what?"
"Swear to me an oath. Swear to me, under the gods sight, that my son will rule Egypt when he is of age."
Set stared at her, aware of the guile in her voice but unable to ascertain from whence it came.
"Swear it to me." She urged.
Set smiled. "Very well. Anubis will succeed my rule as Pharaoh."
Set's vision went out of focus as he pulled Isis close to him. When he looked down at her face, she had the look of a warrior. Her gleam was unmistakable.
"It must be an oath. Swear an oath in front of the gods."
Set studied Nephthys for a long moment. Beads of sweat formed on the Queen's neck and back.
"Fine." He said. "I swear to the gods that your son will rule Egypt."
Nephthys laughed. It was an unnatural laugh, one that didn't seem to fit, or belong to her. She took a step back, throwing her arms out to their sides. What was she doing? Set frowned. Nephthys kept his attention as she laughed arrogantly, triumphantly.
And then he saw it. Nephthys was encased in blue fire. She raised her head, her green eyes aflame. The heat in the room began to rise. Set backed into the corner, shielding his face from the magical inferno that now whipped around Nephthys. She stood in the funnel, her face began to melt like a wax candle. Set screamed. Nephthys's skin sloughed off, big chunks sliding down like mud. And still she laughed. Set covered his eyes and bent down, unable to look at his wife. He peeked through his hands and terror was quickly replaced by rage. For in the circle, surrounded by the melted remains of his wife, stood Isis.
"Witch!" He shrieked.
Isis smiled and it was like the tinkling of bells on a sistrum.
"Traitorous witch!" He bellowed.
She turned on him, her lip curled, fists clenched in a rage of her own. "Set must keep the oath that he swore!" Isis screamed.
She thought of the scorpion sting, the Bennu that incinerated and was reborn. She thought of her little Horus, his kicking legs and sweet smile. "I am Isis, wife of slain Osiris and goddess of wisdom.Set swore that, my only son, Horus, is the rightful pharaoh! I hold him to his oath!"
The gods laughed at Set's gullibility. Each one nodding to the widowed goddess.
Set paled. He moved to the door and threw it open. He glanced back once at the goddess, dead eyed and dark, then he burst out and fled.
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