The Midgard Finger

Rath's chief sorcerer ceremonial headdress. Scarab isn't the only one who gets to be fancy.

When in ceremonial or official situations, all the gods a sorcerer is bound to in some way must be presented in his dress. There are four represented here. He also needs to have his own symbol, which is the hieroglyph for 'horizon' but the line below the sun representing the two horizons is an attacking cobra.

When Scarab was made grand vizier and regent of Egypt, he surrendered his position as head of his order willingly, as he was in final preparations for immortality and taking the throne and could do with one less responsibility. He named his successor, a competent master sorcerer who would run the order but was also cowed by Scarab enough to obey him should Scarab have his own ideas.

Amenhotep ignored the suggestion and put Rath into the position instead. Another reminder that years ago the Pharaoh had asked Rath to take the position first. Rath turned him down and Scarab was Amenhotep's second choice. Rath had no excuse this time and took the position.

Most times, Ja-kal was happy to stick to his brother’s side within the palace. It was a large, awe-inspiring place, the royal family, dignitaries from far lands, and heroes of war alike walked its grand halls, and a lone boy could get swallowed in it. Both Ja-kal and Arakh were old enough now to follow their father’s steps in those halls on the occasion he was needed within, rather than out hunting with his men, but when he was busy in meetings with fellow nobles or making plans, the two were allowed a bit of wandering.

But today Arakh’s usual boisterous harrying was too much and so Ja-kal made his escape and did some exploring on his own. Ra was high in the sky now, the beams of his light only slanted in through windows slightly, yet the white gleaming walls kept the halls bright, the murals nigh sparkling in their color. Ja-kal followed them, finger tracing over figures, animals, and plants, moments of serenity and excitement both captured here for all to remember.

His finger swooped along the Nile, under a royal barque, and around a corner. The dimming of light caught his attention and he looked up. He was heading into an inner room, protected all round and windowless, and about to turn around when voices made him pause. He abandoned the murals and followed those instead. There were guards, but they merely glanced at him. They were familiar to Ja-kal, even if he didn’t know their names, and with his confident steps they thought little of him. Alright then.

He slipped into the inner chamber by the wall, stealth a habit taught by his father, and looked around. In the center of the chamber, lit by one small skylight and torches, men clustered around a table. It was covered in maps and figures, and lying on it was the royal scepter and flail. The Pharaoh leaned over that table, gesturing to points on the map and in deep discussion with generals and guards. Beside the Pharaoh was the prince Amenhotep, listening and quiet, but standing among the men as one of them now, instead of merely learning. He had proven himself in the recent battle of some months ago, despite his young age.

Something else caught Ja-kal’s attention though. Leaning on the same wall which he crept was Amenhotep’s guardian, easily recognized by his snake regalia, a gift from the Pharaoh after the battle. The man was still, arms crossed and eyes locked on the discussion, save when they flicked to Ja-kal to note his presence.

Ja-kal stopped and looked up at him, though not very far. He’d seen the guardian before, of course, the Prince’s constant shadow, but never this close. The Sword of Wadjet they called him, though Ja-kal wondered if that caused confusion, considering the large sword strapped to his back.

The Fang of Wadjet. More than a name, it was literal. They said the goddess Wadjet had pulled it from her own mouth and forged it into a sword right there on the battlefield, gifting it to the guardian. It was all so...legendary that Ja-kal couldn’t help but clear his throat and speak.

“O Guardian…” he began, whispering to not interrupt the discussions at the table.

The guardian’s head snapped around and looked at Ja-kal, eyes wide, as though just now seeing him despite the earlier glance. He said nothing but raised his eyebrows in question, though Ja-kal nearly missed it, partially obscured as they were by his winged snake headdress.

The boy hesitated, then went for it, unable to hide his childish enthusiasm. “Can I see your godblade?”

The guardian gaped at him a second, then rolled his eyes.

Ja-kal sighed in disappointment, awaiting his dismissal, but instead the man reached back and took hold of the sword’s hilt. The cloth wrappings around it and him loosening of their own accord and the sword came free. He turned it and held it out hilt-first to the boy.

“Be careful.” His voice was pitched higher than Ja-kal imaged, and there was tilt in the command that reminded him of his mother.

It was still sound advice, as Ja-kal took hold of the sword with one hand and proceeded to almost drop it before he grabbed it with the second. It was heavy! Well, it should be, it was a snake goddess’ fang. Ja-kal held it up, feeling the weight and perfect balance.

It was as curved and white as a crescent moon, gleaming even in the dim room. About the golden root coiled a snake so deep a green in color Ja-kal thought it might be alive. But the sword was, in a way, no doubt, and was whispering to him to wield it…

He nearly did, raising it as though to strike, when Ja-kal noticed the guardian watching him, face impassive...maybe bored. He swallowed and lowered the blade slightly.

“Uh, may I…?” he tilted the sword to show his intention.

Another eye roll. “Just mind where it and others are,” he insisted quietly, “and yourself.”

Ja-kal beamed, his excitement seeming to flow into the Fang of Wadjet and return to him, and he stepped closer to an empty, dark corner of the room. He raised the sword and swung it sideways and oh!

The sword was heavy, but once in motion it flew. It’s shape cut through the air and like a bird’s wing was lifted by it, leaping and weightless. Ja-kal spun and swung it again; it cost so little to wield this heavy blade, and how it sang to his inner ear…! For a moment he was a great warrior, a protector, a hero of stories his father would tell.

He remembered himself before he laughed aloud, much as he wanted to, and lowered the blade. He returned to the guardian and held it out the hilt to him with a small bow.

“Thank you, Guardian.”

The man reached out and took the sword, placing it back on his back. “In recompense.”

“Hm?” Ja-kal watched wide-eyed as the ‘tail’ of the regalia wrapped back around the sword, covering the blade and holding it to the guardian once more. “For what?”

The guardian inhaled deeply before letting the air back out through his nose. “That’s my name. R’ath.”

“Oh…” he trailed off, not sure how to answer that in a way that wasn’t rude. Who would name their child that? Fortunately the guardian’s attention was back on his charge, currently speaking to one of the generals.

Ja-kal was spared a further awkward moment as the guardian...Rath...returned his eyes to him. “Who are you?”

Oh, right, he hadn’t introduced himself. “Ja-kal, son of Kir-sul,” he added another small bow.

Rath tapped a finger to his lips in thought. “Ah, yes, the royal huntsman.”

Another long silence as once again Rath’s attention returned to the men at the table. Ja-kal bounced on the balls of his feet a little, eyes on the sword at the guardian’s back.

“Did Wadjet really give that to you during the battle?”

Rath’s shoulders tightened at the question, his hands waving helplessly in the air, “It’s...yes and no.” Charms bound to wrappings around his right hand rang quietly as he dropped his hands to his side and glowered at Ja-kal. He looked back at the men at the table, then down to the boy, eyes narrowed. “Are you supposed to be in here?” he asked slowly.

“Uh…” he too looked to the important men making plans and discussing things a boy his age could only know but a little. No one had stopped his entering, but Ja-kal knew he shouldn’t lie. “...Probably not.”

Rath glared and gave a sharp gesture, almost as sharp as the “Shhht!” accompanying it. “Out, before we both get in trouble!” he hissed.

The idea of the prince’s guardian getting in trouble along with him finally did make Ja-kal laugh as he spun back to the doorway out of this dim yet important place. He stopped at the threshold and gave one final, playful bow. “Thank you, O Great Guardian Rath!” When he straightened he almost missed the tug of a smile at Rath’s mouth.

“Off with you.”

Young man Rath doodle and v.2 of the Wadjet regalia headdress. I'm still not happy with it.

My actual headcanon is that Rath shaves his head which was common among men in ancient Egypt, especially among priests and such. But for this prequel 'verse he's of Hyksos descent so he's got foofy hair. Because I want to.

I colored it. 'Cause why not.

Adolescent Rath. The son of an Egyptian and one of the Hyksos, he made his way for a little while as a rogue in the lower city. He got picked up by a Master Magician who saw potential in him and convinced the Pharaoh to allow him into the temple for an education. He was given a new name and a crash-course in proper high-born behavior and a quick, basic education.

Ja-kal sat himself down heavily on the steps leading to their sarcophagi, pain thrumming up and down his injured arm to the tune of a heartbeat he didn’t have. He let out a breath of air and fitfully dozed, or maybe Rath had already been there. Regardless, Ja-kal couldn’t help but chide himself; injured or not he should not be so easily snuck up on.

“Everything go alright?” Rath asked, arms crossed as he regarded his leader.

“I parked the Nile-ator in the garage.”

“Not what I asked.” Rath knelt and looked over the injured arm, fingers ghosting over worn bandages and adjusting the sling. “Presley is home safely?”

“Of course.” He should be offended by the question but Rath couldn’t help it. He winced at the adjustment and then continued, answering the ignored question. “Presley helped me send a message...despite everything, Arakh is my brother. I can’t just...leave things as is.”

Rath hummed and sat back, eyes narrowed to slits. “They were not like us. We were bound here, our souls in sleep to await our prince’s return, but Arakh and Kimas both long ago moved on beyond the gate. It’s where they belong.” He paused a moment, considering. Comfort was not his forte. “At least your nephew knows the truth of you and your love for him now.”

“Yes, but it shouldn’t… It wasn’t always like this, you know. Between me and Arakh.”

“Really? I recall him being quite terrible even when you were boys.”

Ja-kal glared, “That’s not what I meant. I meant…” he shut his eyes, “Even after we’d badly parted ways, when Kimas was born Arakh called me to his home, welcomed me with open arms. He gave me Kimas to hold and he looked so proud, happy. I remember him smiling at me and in that moment at least we were brothers. It happened sometimes.”

Again Rath was quiet a long moment, working through his words before he said them. It wasn’t a way of showing he cared that most people picked up on, but Ja-kal was very familiar with it and when in a better mood appreciative. “You should hang on to those moments then. Remember things as they could have been.”

“I would, but in hindsight...Arakh would have harmed his own son to get to me, nearly did,” he scrubbed at his face with a hand, weary, “Were these moments I’ve clung to, treasured even, more blindness on my part? Was Arakh proud to be a father, or was it merely him trying to show me up? I don’t know…” He dropped his hand and looked to the sorcerer. “How do you handle your regrets?”

Rath shrugged. “I study them, learn from them. Then I ignore them.”

“Ignore them.” An incredulous statement more than a question.

“What good does moping do me? Find the error and do not repeat it.” He stood and circled Ja-kal, checking his bicep and shoulder from behind. “This should heal well, just don’t overdo it.”

“Do we even heal normally?”

“Hm, magic is the bending of truth, and while we’ve died we are alive again...somewhat. We simulate life, so we heal like it.” He paused, “Don’t think about it too hard, it could undo some things…”

“You do.”

“I know how to do it safely,” Rath said, tone and the tilt of his head nothing but smug. He moved past Ja-kal over to his makeshift workbench, one of several he had throughout the sphinx outside his lab. “Is there pain?”

‘No’, Ja-kal nearly answered, a habit born in life he still hadn’t dropped, but he could hear Scarab’s voice now, mocking his warrior pride that left him vulnerable. “Yes,” he sighed because it was true.

It was quiet then, save the grind of a mortar and pestle, the hiss of burners, Rath muttering. Ja-kal shut his eyes and let the susurrus of alchemical workings lull him back to a doze, only to snap back to focus as Rath thrust a vial into his view from behind.

The ichor was thick and congealed, but Ja-kal took the vial and downed the fluid.

Bandages ripped to his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he snarled before the whole of his face collapsed inward.

“Gah!” he sputtered as Rath took back the vial from his hand, “What is that? Did you make it from Khati’s leavings?!”

“Don’t ask what you don’t want to know…” Rath sing-songed behind him, back at his bench.

Ja-kal tried to spit the taste out of his mouth while Rath was distracted. Ra above, even being dead didn’t spare him disgusting medicines.

The padding of bandaged feet behind him marked the sorcerer’s return. On another day, Ja-kal might appreciate his care but in this moment he wished the man would go away.

“You should return to your sarcophagus. Even in this modern age, rest remains the best method of healing.”

Ja-kal didn’t answer but sat in silence. Rath didn’t like being ignored so he only had a precious minute before the magician would repeat himself or more. Instead his mouth opened and he was speaking thoughts that were meant to remain within.

“He was my last chance. Kimas, my nephew… He was so young when I last saw him. The idea that Arakh poisoned him against me shouldn’t be a surprise and yet…” He meant to drop his face in his hands, but the injured arm protested and with a wince the one had to do, “Was my death not enough for him? Did Arakh truly have nothing but hate for me that even his son became secondary to revenge? Everything I did was for him, did I push too hard? Was I so blind to my father’s favoritism that…”

“Ja-kal,” Rath interrupted, voice low but form in a way the hunter hadn’t heard in a long time, “Arakh was a grown man, his choices his own. And even in his youth he pushed back against any who tried to help. You were the only one who kept trying. But his pride allowed nothing else.”

He went quiet then, and Ja-kal didn’t interrupt the boon of silence. Rath was not tactful by nature, an oddity considering he practically grew up at court, and had to think things through.

“You succeeded in Kimas, but more than that, he is not your last chance. There is another still that needs you, but at least that burden is shared now.”

“Rapses.”

“Of course. He does look up to you, even if he doesn’t show it well. He always has.”

“And do you hate me for that?”

He didn’t have to turn around to know Rath was frowning, eyes narrowed.

“I’ve never hated you.” It was a flat yet sharp delivery, and they both left it at that. Rath sniffed in his way and continued, “We all four of us must make up for our failure. Presley is our last chance. But things are in motion now, we need to be careful.”

“What?” Finally Ja-kal turned, concern lit, only to have his head jerked as Rath grabbed one of the loose strips of bandage on his head and yanked him to his feet.

“To your sarcophagus, come on.”

Ja-kal whirled and jabbed a finger into the slighter man’s chest, “Knock it off, I can beat you up.” It was the most childish thing he’d said in millennia but considering the pain, his turbulent thoughts of his brother, and Rath’s incessant chatter, he didn’t care.

Rath was unimpressed and brushed his hand away. “Not with that arm right now you can’t. Sarcophagus, now.” He grabbed Ja-kal’s uninjured arm and bodily spun him towards their standing sarcophagi.

Grumbling, Ja-kal gave up and moved, yet there was in him too pride that railed against this. That wanted Rath to back off, to shut up for once and let Ja-kal deal with his own hurts, physical and otherwise, in peace. But Arakh’s triumphant sneer flashed in his mind and the fight and anger subsided to give way to exhaustion. So much so that yet again the question he never wanted to ask limped out.

“Do you think he resents us? For failing him? For letting him die?”

That brought Rath up short and he paused. “I...don’t know. I don’t think even Presley knows. Even still he calls to us when in need, so there’s that.”

He nudged Ja-kal further and the hunter dutifully stepped into his Horus sarcophagus, turned and leaned back into it. “Will we ever know?” he can’t help but ask.

“I try not to think about it.”

“Ignoring the regret?” He can’t keep the bite out of his tone.

Rath looked at him, the torchlight reflecting off the glint of the gilded sarcophagus making his eyes glow, illuminating sorrow there all too familiar.

“I take comfort in the fact that none of us will let it happen again,” he said and shut the lid.

Ja-kal dropped his head back as darkness enclosed about him, sound muffled but not gone. He did need rest. He did need quiet to think.

Ignore it. He wished he could. But there was wisdom in Rath’s philosophy. To study and learn… Since waking up in this time none of them had spoken of their last day alive, of what happened, save Rath’s confused, “All three of you?” when they returned to the Sphinx to claim it as their new home. Even then, no one had answered. Why think back to the pain of death? Look forward, protect the reborn prince… But their failure did need to be examined. The why, especially for him. He was the leader, had he made a call that doomed them all? As Arakh attacked him Ja-kal had assumed his team right behind him, fighting forward...but had they? Had they been split apart and each alone done for? Failing the prince, failing themselves…

Perhaps when he woke, when he was rested and more himself, they could go over that day. It would be hard, but they had to know where the failure was and not repeat it.

Ja-kal had too many failures, he would suffer no more.

Ja-Kal glanced over and bowed his head low to the Pharaoh as he entered. The guardians had been given a private room in the house of healing, allowing Amenhotep to lower his arms from the crossed position of rank and divine and casually clasp his hands and his crook and flail behind his back. He spoke low, tone casual and eyes shifting to his captain of the royal hunt.

“He is well, as you can see, O Pharaoh,” Ja-Kal said, looking back to the other three guardians.

Nefer sat on a stool as the other two fussed over him, if ‘fussed’ were used liberally. Sniping each other was more accurate. The slight young man was rolling his eyes as Armon attempted to give advice. Rath stood behind him, drawing magic healing sigils in the air that he then pressed to him and being far less constructive.

Shaking his head, Ja-Kal returned his attention to the Pharaoh. “The wound is less than it first appeared, there was no reason for you to come.”

Amenhotep hummed. “A guardian stands ready to give his life and more to me and mine, the least I can do is check up on you.”

“Then you honor us, Great One.”

“In fact, I would advise from now on that in the case of injury that may require a healer and recovery we keep the knowledge to a trusted few. I will make sure you are all attended by my personal physicians from now on.”

“My lord?”

“Indeed, a guardian stands ready to give his life...it is great sacrifice, your duty, but as such it comes with great privilege. There are those that seek that privilege and would not hesitate to throw a Challenge of the Maze at one who could not fight back and there would be nothing I could do about it. I will not allow that. Not again.”

It was impossible to miss the way Amenhotep’s gaze landed on Rath as he spoke.

Ja-Kal frowned. “I don’t…” he began, only to trail off as realization came. “I’ve been a fool. All these years...I thought you relieved Rath of duty because you ascended to the throne and no longer needed a guardian.”

“Because that’s what I wanted people to think. Still do.” He sighed, shut his eyes a moment, “I wanted to keep Rath with me, but despite everything that had just happened there were those that smelled blood in the water as he recovered and took their chance. Multiple challenges were thrown and he had to answer. But you remember the state he was in…”

He did. The battle against Apep left Rath half blind, voiceless, and unable to walk without help, and for the first week or so after regaining consciousness he slipped in and out of a fugue state where he couldn’t remember where he was or recognize anyone. All temporary, thank the gods, but the recovery was long and difficult. He’d still been relying on a cane a year later.

“My father held back the magics for a little,” Amenhotep continued, “the Maze beneath the palace partially caved in in the fight, but it was not long enough. I had to make a decision. So to spare Rath humiliation and dishonor I freed him of his oath and myself of a guardian. All we wanted when we were younger. Amazing how things can change.”

His eyes once again shifted to the hunter. “I chose you all for a reason. Not only are you the best of my men, but part of my son’s life, he trusts you. In you. As do I.”

Ja-Kal bowed low. “And we are honored. He means everything to us.”

The Pharaoh nodded. “Under normal circumstances I do not worry. You have all proven time and again none can challenge you. But the ancient magics know no nuance and do not care if you are injured serving me; only the best and strongest may be a guardian. There are those who will take advantage of that and my hands will be tied.”

“I understand, my lord. We will be careful and discreet.”

Their attentions were caught as Nefer leapt up from his stool, swatting Rath’s hands away violently as he went to press a sigil into his chest.

“I said knock it off!”

“I have to complete the circle, you ungrateful--!”

“I’m fine! It’s a slash and some bruising, I’ve had worse falling off a horse.”

Rath sniffed and stuck his nose in the air, arms crossed. “Fine, then next time I won’t help you.”

“Oh nooo what will I do?” Nefer mocked.

“Try dodging the spear next time?” Armon offered.