Anek hrak Aset

"All praise Isis"

The Legend of Osiris
The gold of her immortal flesh gleaming wetly with sweat and the divine ointment smeared about her swollen abdomen, the goddess Nut carefully eased herself into the birth bower composed of six days' darkness. The bower's sanctity could not have been without the assistance of Thoth, who had used his wisdom to beguile the moon into betting his light on a game of senet. The celestial had lost so sorely that it required rest, creating a six day period outside the lunar year in which Nut could bear her children. Unseen on this night was the goddess' smile of thanks as her teeth set themselves in anticipation of the labor to come.
The weight of many hours bore down on her belly, pushing forth a strong and healthy son whose wails at the shock of life's first breath competed with those of his mother at the life she had created. Nut willed that he be named Osiris, and her lover Geb consented.
Barely had the child's name completed his being when a second child, a girl, was delivered to the mist of her grandfather Shu. Having fallen in love in the womb, the girl and her brother remained loyal to each other after birth. As their mother prepared to free her third child, there came shining through the darkness and her own awareness the beauty of her daughter Isis.
Nephysis soon wriggled alongside her brother and sister, the demure loveliness of her face momentarily contorted by distress at having left the warmth of her mother.
Flesh set agow by the previous births degenerated into a grimace as the last of Nut's children quivered within her. The pain caused by the infant was intentional; it, alone, was in control of its being and the delivery thereof. Nut's gasps of throe pleased the child, and he was insensed at their cessation once he reached the outside world. Disgusted, he sat apart from his siblings to brood. Were it not for the flame of his hair and the green of his eyes, Seth might have been mistaken for the darkness of six days.
Relieved of the burden she had carried for nine months, Nut desired to caress Geb in thanks for being the father of her children and for being the Earth that she and all else rested upon. What Geb felt was the breeze of his lover's hand in passing as the air that was their father, Shu, stretched between them, separating the pair eternally.

Slender fingers trailed along a cheek magnificent in line and hue, as were the curves of the body to which it belonged. Kissing the hand tempting her, Isis embraced Osiris in anticipation of their first night together as husband and wife. Conjure, transform, battle, and embitter: all this she would will conceived, that she might become and endure on his behalf. Such was the conviction voiced by the loss of her breath, the tensing of her jaw; inundation was at hand.

Strands of black silk curled around the ripples they wrote, the wetness trailing upward along tresses held carelessly low. Isis found the chill of the water trivial, and inclined herself further over the deck of the barge, daring the fates who had left her no option but to sail such somber courses. Tides such as these were normally the realm of her demon brother Seth; it was he who had forced them upon her. Angry and obsessive, the eyes scalding their means of reflection, irises black depsite their silver. Tears were incapable of displacing the stain, as she knew well from many days spent sobbing over her late husband.
Demon brother... the greatest evil of your creation is that which you left inside me.
Seventy-two accomplices, a Nubian Queen: these were Seth's spies, charmers, and executioners in the plot against his envied elder brother. Having obtained Osiris' measurements by surreptitious means, they used them as the outline for a magnificently constructed chest that Knum or Ptah would have difficulty improving. The wealth and craft of the Netjeru shone in the gilt corners and lavishly painted surfaces highlighted with ebony whorls, fowl of lapis lazuli, and lotus blossoms grown from alabaster and ivory. That such beauty should be the centerpiece of a celebration was only appropriate. Around it would steam the freshest and finest of dishes, supplemented by wine whose flow was forbidden to ebb as a proposal was dished: whomever fit best inside the chest would have the privilige of claiming it as his or her own. No guest dared pass up the prize, but only Osiris and his contours met with success. He gazed up at Seth from a shadowed haze of inlays and brushstrokes, smiling in honor of his victory.
Seth also smiled, his own victory marked by the kick that sent the lid of the chest slamming down.
An instant betrayed Isis' confusion. Wandering, wondering, her eyes were finally focused by the first splash of molten lead that sparked as it scalded all beauty away; the casket was being sealed shut.
Conspirators and allies alike were bludgeoned by the queen's unleashed fury, the shrieks shattering her throat. Overturned chairs impeded her no more than the broken faience slicing open her delicate feet; nothing would keep her from the casket and the husband within. Nothing, save for the blow Seth dealt to her jaw.
Falling backward, she found herself smothered by her brother's accomplices, blood and wine spilling across the front of her gown as she was shoved into the table, and then onto the floor. Linen folds became entangled in flailing limbs struggling to grasp the powers of sorcery she had yet to master, and now could only yearn for. She was equally powerless when the living manacle of conspirators finally gave way, for with them had left the casket and the brother whose blood she would rather drink than the wine with which Osiris had filled his cup.
For his own part, Seth chose to savor the looming fate of his brother; drink was not out of his reach when the casket was thrown into the Nile. The lead sealing the coffin's edges weighed not so much as the occupant whose kicks still sounded upon the closed lid, and these efforts waned with Ra's light as the chest drifted into the depths. It was too late to save the King's life, so the waves of Hapy did what they could for the body. Beyond the sight of Seth, and past the boundaries of Kemet, the casket ran aground on Babylon, its surface slick with moss and the beauty that had once been. The lifelessness of the being within did not prevent the foliage blooming around it from flourishing until one tamarask tree, awesome in straightness and greenery, concealed the chest entirely beneath a veneer of fine grain.
Just as the casket had inspired coveting and affection, so did the foliage that came to be its keeper. The Babylonian King had not only a discerning taste for the extravagant, but also vision; his first glimpse of the tree left in its wake the image of the grand pillar it would metamorphose into. On his orders, the tamarask was cut and transported to the expansive hall dominated by its presence. The life that had once encouraged strength in branch and beauty now took root in the palace and her people, who budded with new prospects as they nurtured both established and sprouting venues.
The King of Babylon was not the only one to benefit from rumors of the tree. Isis, too, had listened in earnest to the tales of grace, austere in the promises carried and fulfilled. Of suspicians, she had none; her heart was certain as to what lay inside. Now, if only her heart would come to stand the leisure of the barge's pace as it edged onward, toward Babylon.

Gaining entry to the palace was not so difficult as one might assume. Nor was presenting herself as a woman worthy of the privilige of caring for the King's newly born son, Isis having already charmed the royal daughters. Until such a time that she could secure access to the tree and the chest inside, this child was to be her deepest concern.
Any other babe would have been suckled at a mortal woman's breast; Isis nourished this child by offering her finger to kiss. She and Osiris had never had children, and the remorse and longing from this coupled to conceive a wish that the boy she now cared for would be accompanied by greatness beyond the touch of her own presence. Desiring to make him immortal, she would nurse him by the fireside before placing him in the center of the blaze. Spiraling upward with the flames would come smoke from the burning of his mortal parts, the strange smell of which was masked by the myrr tainting Isis' sighing breath. One night, after relinquishing the babe to the fire, she willed her form into that of a swallow, and exchanged her sighs for a song of lamentation. Those who listened whilst asleep knew sweeter dreams than the one mind who had dared to remain awake. Soft were the steps of the queen as she followed the melody to the hearth.
Serenity cowered as the Queen screamed, first from beholding her son admidst the flames, and then from the burns covering the hands that had swept him out of the embers.
The swallow perched upon the mantel made no immediate move toward flight, concern, or alarm. Rather, she inclined the head that was sadly shaking. One deep breath consigned her to a swirl of feathers and down, to be trod underfoot as she positioned her true form before the terrified Queen.
Powers soon to ressurrect whole beings now cooled the burned arms of the Queen as Isis explained her reasons for deception. The voice narrating her story was not devoid of emotion, and any efforts made toward composure served to increase the strained tones upholding her words, her poignantly controlled expression. It was beneath her to beg; such is what she found herself doing. The dignity marred with this display born not of humility, but helplessness, would be redeemed by posession of the tree whose secret was her only reason. Had the queen refused her, the goddess' soaring powers would have levelled and surpassed any reasoning. As it was, her cries of greif upon regaining the chest stilled the heart of the infant she had suckled, and the laments of the mother flung themselves at Isis as she fled from the palace with her husband's casket. Such was the risk of greatness.


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