Make It Rain

The screech was ear splitting. The anguished scream of the goddess. It tore the sky into ragged black shreds of woe. Isis had thrown back her white hair, her naked breasts heaving with exertion. She shuddered in sobbing gasps of breath. The remnants of her shredded clothes hung like carrion on her body. Mad with grief and frustration she turned to Nephthys/Aleesha. Her eyes dangerous vivid emeralds.
“Make it rain” she demanded. “I know you can do it”
Her skin glowed as her power regathered.
“Make it rain!” she roared. “Now!”
The demand came as a piercing spear. Aleesha felt the sting as it struck.

Nephthys raised her hands to the sky. She focused her thoughts on her mother. Called the clouds to them. Projecting her spirit among them, she felt the dampness in the air high above.
Slowly, steadily, she curled her fingers into fists. The temperature dropped as ice crystals formed overhead. With the same slow method she opened her fingers until her hands were flat.
“Yes!” hissed Isis as the first drops fell. The clouds burst into life, delivering in a torrent.
Isis looked down at him. Her eyes blazed with anticipation. This would work. It must work. This was all she had left to try.
Around her body, a ripple of blue static began to build. It crackled like a fire all over her. Aleesha could feel it’s’ intensity building. Pulsing. Growing.
And through Nephthys she knew what Isis was attempting. It may have been a mystical spell with an appropriately romantic name but it simply came to Aleesha as two words. Lightning rod.
With an enormous crack, a massive single bolt struck.
Isis and Osiris vanished in a blinding sheet of white. Nephthys was knocked off her feet by the blast, landing twenty feet from where she stood. The vegetation all around was dead and blackened by the heat.
Picking herself up from the ground, Nephthys ran to where Osiris lay. As she approached there was no sign of Isis. The blast had thrown her clear of the area. Nephthys put her hand to her mouth at the stench of burnt hair and flesh. But the sight of him was almost too much to bear.
The king of all men lay on the mud soaked ground. His severed limbs had been meticulously reattached. Amongst the sutures, written incantations protected the wounds from further detrition. Around his throat, spells proclaimed his desire to see again. To look upon his love and know her. On his legs, to come to her. On his arms, to hold her. And on his penis, to consummate their love.
But there was also more. Parts of his face and body were charred from the lightning strike. Flesh had bubbled and sagged. Steam rose from his fiery wounds as the rain cooled them.
And on his thigh.
Oh dear sister.
Dozens of slits, many overlapping into crosses and stars. Fresh and raw. Part of no ritual for his resurrection. In her insane rage she had used her small jewelled dagger. The one he had given her.
She had stabbed until the knife had disintegrated. The broken blade was still in his leg.
Nephthys tried to pull it out but the fury of the blow made it impossible.

Despite his condition, she could not contain her desperate love for Osiris. This beautiful man had opened her heart. And taken it forever captive. As her tears spilt the rain intensified.
She leant over his face, handsome despite everything.
And longed to see him open his eyes.
To look upon his love and know her.

For love.

Once for love.

She spoke the name of Ra.
And held her breath.

“Get away from him!” screamed Isis. She conjured a blast of energy which thundered into Nephthys’ body. Her right arm took the brunt of it, the bones splintering into fragments. Most of her ribs broke, puncturing both lungs as she flew twisting like rag through the air. She landed contorted and broken. Her eyes filled red with blood.
“Stay away from him!” Isis stood over his body as a lioness over its kill.
“Not you” she cried.
“Not you” she waned.

She knew.

Nephthys tried to breathe, gurgling blood and mud and wet air.

Then Isis gasped.

“It worked!” she shrieked. “Dear Ra it worked. His eyes are open!” She pecked him with kisses, muttering thanks and praising her forefathers.
Through a crimson veil Nephthys watched their dark silhouette against the magenta sky. Her sisters’ hand grasped his penis, working him to arousal. Isis mounted him quickly, holding him in place as she rose and fell. Osiris moaned as her pace increased furiously.
Nephthys shut her eyes and prayed for an end to everything.

Finally the sounds stopped. The downpour drew to an end. Several minutes passed.
Nephthys opened her painful eyes to see Isis above her. Her face a raging mask of hatred. The panther of black magic. Her hair rippling deep purple.

“He thought it was you” she seethed.

She pressed her foot into her sister’s stomach. Blood bubbled out of her nose and mouth.

“He called me by your name”

She held up the head of Osiris. The magical stitches had held. No knife.
She had torn it off.

With a thud she dropped it onto Nephthys’s chest.
And walked away.

(from the novel “Last Goddess”)

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Kir-eleyne

There was a pause in the heartbeat of the earth.

The god of the sun exhaled for the last time and for a moment everything stopped. Reason ceased. A small flock of belling birds, the last thirty or so left in Etelenty, forgot how to fly. More than half of them simply fell out of the sky, their small bodies landing with muffled thumps on the dead leaf carpet.
Spreading in a concentric pattern from Ra’s body, any plant still clinging to life lost its fight, the ground blackening as though burnt. The ring spread rapidly, and in moments everything to the horizon had darkened.
At the same time, the air diluted, losing its freshness, its vibrancy. Its life.
Above the head of Nephthys, maniacal violet thunderheads surged across the sky. The hue of the world changed to a sickening vermillion in the challenging rise of the winds. Magenta explosions raged inside the swirling clouds, threatening a monsoon of blood.
A storm unlike any other. A cataclysmic storm.
Her mother had begun to grieve. Her mother the sky.

Below her pretty bare feet, she felt her father’s protest.
A rapidly intensifying tremor rumbled through the sanctity of Aedom, tumbling her backwards across the charred and brittle turf. The sudden imbalance in all things was personified by an enormous crack, the loudest sound Nephthys would ever hear. An angry jagged fissure opened up in the earth, splitting the great Acacia in half. The fountain of truth disintegrated into thousands of obsidian chips, which whistled in all directions like tiny missiles. The psychotic fissure screamed through the ground, splitting Etelenty from one coast to the other, releasing choking sulphur. Nephthys gasped for air as the great trees began to be consumed by the quake, spilling like toys into the growing abyss. Deep below, the ravenous magma began its hungry climb, preceded by the fiery glow of warning
As her beautiful Mother Sycamore plummeted into the chasm, she actually did stop breathing, the air at the epicentre too thin to maintain respiration. She slumped forward crazily, the pricked balloon of a dying goddess. As she came to rest on the ground her wavering vision tried to focus on something. Anything to give her hope.
A familiar face swam through the haze.
An important, familiar face.
Green catatonic eyes staring.
I…..know………..you.
Sister.

With the last of her strength, Nephthys gave her voice to the hellish sky. A desperate call to the one who had always come. Without hesitation or judgement.
The magnificent Kir-eleyne punctured the armies of warring clouds, hurtling towards them.
My dear friend.
Thank you.
She felt a lopsided, palsied smile on her face.
Thank you.
The mighty raptor snatched up the two sisters like mice.

The charred bodies of the remaining belling birds dropped like stones into the molten mouth.

Kir-eleyne thundered its massive wings to get to safety, but the poison in Isis climbed rapidly though its talons and into its body. It dipped in the air as this strange sensation coursed through it. Kir-eleyne had never suffered weakness. Never been afraid. It would have dropped Isis but for the call of the girl with eyes the colour of sky.
Help us.

The great bird drew upon the essence of Belleren, using it to limit the spread of poison to the blue eyed girl. Knowing that it must do this.
It struggled ahead, crashing though the now brittle trees of Aedom, trying to gain height. Magma spewed out of the ground, bringing forth deadly cannon balls of fiery subterranean rocks. Kir-elyne’s wings were punctured, leaving smoky holes.
It had never felt pain either.
Somehow it lifted the sisters over a ridge, but it flew drunkenly as blood loss weakened it more.
A little further.
A little further.

Help us.

Get them safe.

As the poison reached Kir-eleyne mighty heart, it recognised the touch of the pale man.

You will not have them.

One giant push of its wings was all it had left. It pulled the two girls in close to its body. With the help of Belleren it encircled them with its golden wings, locking itself into a ball around their bodies.
Kir-eleyne said farewell to the sky and died while still in the air.
It crashed to the earth, protecting them as it tumbled and broke.
It was far enough to be safe from the earthquake. But not the rain of molten rock. They peppered the great bird’s body, and its feathers and flesh burnt with a stench lost in the madness of the apocalypse.
The ka of Kir-eleyne passed to Isis and Nephthys, giving them the essence of its being and the remnants of Belleren. It was just enough. It would allow them to survive.

They were safe.

from the novel “Last Goddess”

Belleren

The sisters faced each other, holding hands. A tremble ran between them.
“Calm down” demanded Isis. “If you cannot control yourself, you will not be able to control the outcome”
“I’m sorry” replied Nephthys humbly. It was not nerves that made her shake. It was excitement. She rarely saw her sister. Now, for the first time, she was learning projection spells with her. It was hard not to be overawed.
“Stop it!” snapped Isis. She was always so serious. Always. Nephthys wondered if she ever relaxed, ever had fun.
She wrinkled her nose in the way that even Ra could not resist.
The emerald eyes of Isis narrowed frighteningly. Nephthys felt the vicious slap of nothing but air across her face. Her cheekbones sang in pain. A rivulet of blood escaped her nose and ran to her mouth. She had never tasted it before.
The mistress of magic did not play childish games.
Nephthys felt sorry for her.
The slap came from the other side this time. Harder.
“Save your pity. And focus! There will be things you can do by touch as we all can. But not everything can be done directly. A time may well come when your life, and the lives of others, will rely on what you learn here. Will you behave like a child then? Or will you behave as the daughter of earth and sky?”
Nephthys nodded, working her jaw. Thankfully it was not broken.
Isis resumed the lesson.
“Behind me is Sandar-akh. Do you see it?”
Nephthys couldn’t help but see it. The towering pine was one of the biggest trees in the garden. Sky reaching and proud, it was the one that made her think of Osiris. Their beautiful brother. She tried to keep the thought from Isis, who looked at her suspiciously. Nephthys braced for a blow. It didn’t come.
“You know of Belleren?”
“Yes.” The unbreakable shield of Sekhmet was one of the two magical items created by Ptah for the warrior goddess. The other was the lance of Ra, Verinor. Belleren was an incredible item, able to change shape and size to defend the user. Light to carry but impenetrable, Ptah had imbued this piece of living metal with part of his own soul.
“The idea is simple. Imagine Belleren covering Sandar-akh, disguising it from view. And it is simple. It must be kept so. What is difficult to master is the transference of the energy. The maintaining of it. It is a glamour to deceive the eye, and if doubt enters it cannot work. Through my hands you will be able to feel the course I take. Ready?”
Their grip tightened momentarily before relaxing again.
Nephthys felt Isis concentrate her energy at Belleren. Into it. Her spirit swimming through the amazing shield, becoming part of it. Feeling the cool touch of the metal inside and around her. Then seeking out the mighty cypress of the sacred garden. Holding it in her spreading golden arms. Wooing it. Willing it to be still. Silent. The breath of the goddess upon it. Seeking its ills and soothing them. She felt the powerful drain on Isis. The price to be paid for casting the deception.
It was done.
She looked over her sister’s shoulder.
Sandar-akh was gone.
Isis looked at her shocked sister’s face. Her eyes were glittering green gems of challenge.
“Your turn”

(from the novel “Last Goddess”)

The Blue Truth

It cannot be real.

It must be an illusion.

I have been drawn here. With the help of the old woman and the flow of the river I have been carried far from lands I know. But not all the way to this hidden place. The sweet voice in my head guided me to the spot she resides. The massive hollowed eucalypt is her home. It stands guard above and around her.
No others dwell here but this pretty girl. This child.
She is fragile, smaller than me, but we are related. I know this regardless of the aura she gives off. Her eyes are shark grey around her enlarged pupils. She wears a simple light blue shift over her moon pale body. Her hair is dark and straight like mine. But mine stops before it reaches my feet. Hers must have started growing when the giant tree was a sapling. It extends across the ground in all directions, up the inside of the tree and across the roof.
It parts where I take a step.
I hesitate as I get close, for I sense danger. A wave of hair rises where I stop and forms an elegant stool. I take my seat.
And I notice her skin.
It is pallid, untouched by sunlight. Mine is as dark as Osiris in comparison.

And through it, underneath it, I see an illusion that I know is not.

It swims beneath her flesh. It is purple and grey, silver and gold, swirling through oily blue. It is sharp and angry. Smooth and soothing. It both heats and cools her. It converges and dissipates as it whispers and teases and torments and screams.
I recognise it and therefore also her.
She is myth made real.
She is purity.
Ma’at.
The Truth.

Her speaking voice is the one from my head.
“Hello little queen” she says. That which the gold man called me many seasons ago. She is the love that Ptah cannot hold.
Ma’at answers the questions I don’t need to say aloud. And the ones I don’t want to.
As she speaks, her tale plays out under the paper lantern of her skin.

“My mother was Wadjyt, a beautiful mortal woman. She caught the eye of your grandfather, who befriended her. In awe of what Ra was able to show her, she feigned an attraction for him to find out all she could of his secrets. When she still remained unsatisfied, she devised a plan to sleep with him with the sole purpose of learning all of his knowledge. He resisted her seduction for many years, and the longer she waited the more bitter she became. Practically insane, she finally succeeded but the lovemaking he had avoided so long was cold and spiteful. At the point of his climax she screamed to the heavens to know everything and to be everything. Ra, cheated and angry, granted her request. Into her flowed what she sought and beyond. But Wadjyt did not benefit from it. She gained only longevity, to suffer for longer. The rest entered via the twins conceived by Ra. The first born was given the physical everything. The most beautiful woman of existence. Desirable to men and women alike, her face and body never ravaged by age or blemish. But none could desire her more than she loves herself. Her selfishness has festered into an apathetic cruelty and continues to worsen. The beautiful façade hides her complete lack of morals. She is vile and false. When she encounters a kindred spirit their partnership will threaten everyone. Everything.
Her twin was given the answers. All of them.”
She held out her thin arms and the colours and movement beneath her flesh intensified.
“All that has been, and is, and will be. The truth of everything. It is so overwhelming, the touch of my skin by a mortal is fatal. Even one like you would be lucky to survive. It fills me. Then overfills me. It moves within me endlessly. Relentlessly. Overlapping. Day and night. Always being added to. Always more. With every second, more. Sometimes it pauses for a moment, but only a moment. But when it does, I see things clearly.
”I have seen you” says the little voice.

“I told my mother I saw you on that high ledge. It was in the future, but I didn’t know when. I could see your fate, but you could not. There was something you hadn’t realised, and your ignorance would cost your life. In that instant I also saw within you, and knew that you could not perish there. That we must meet.
My mother, as willing penance for her sin, offered to go to the place I described and wait for you there.”

I wondered how long poor Wadjet had sat there awaiting my wedding day.
“Six and a half thousand years” said the Truth.

Ma’at had spoken of Wadjyt in the past tense. To avoid giving me away under Seth’s torture, she had followed me over the edge.

Her penance is over. It has saved me.

The Blue Truth has saved me.

I look at the tiny girl and can see within the storm of the truth, the tortured child who carries an unbearable load. She reads my pity and her soft tears follow well worn paths down her cheeks.

I want to hug her. Kiss her. Thank her.

I get up and step forward a little. The stool drops back to the floor and a new one appears where I halt. I can feel the electricity of her. It rages and surges, liquid and dangerous. It threatens me. But her face is so terribly sad. I cannot come closer and she knows I wish to comfort her. It adds to her existing torment. At that moment, it is worse. I wonder if she has ever been held.

She does not say it but the colours and patterns in her flesh do.

No.
No one.
My heart doesn’t just break, it shatters.
I rise and go to her. I must.
Her eyes tell me even she did not foresee this.

As our skin makes contact it feels as though insects are running through my fingers. The sensation rushes through me like forest fire, an avalanche of rapid, vivid images. A maelstrom incinerates my mind. Faces and futures. Two fair haired girls. A freckle faced boy. A kind faced man with my sister’s eyes. A short middle aged woman, her forearms dripping blood. A gaunt man nailed to a cross. And others.Countless others. Thousands. Millions. A small red gem that sings my name. Buildings and vehicles of strange construction. Storms made by nature and storms made by man. Burning forests. Burning houses. Burning cities. Burning children. There are pleasant things, but the bad swamps and overwhelms them. Pain. Pollution. Disease. Famine. Murder. Insanity. War. Endless death. It tears through me, a clawing biting squealing hurricane. It lasts an instant. A half instant.
I am thrown away from her in a shockwave and my body slams into the ground, cracking bones and ripping flesh. I feel detached from the neck down, unable to control my limbs. Vomit gushes from me as my body purges violently. Attempting to stand, I crash back down face first. I do the same a second time. On the third attempt I get to unsteady feet.
It is beyond comprehension. An unliveable life. Every second is an agony for her. Every single second.
Her way out is the same one I have just faced. The only freedom is death.
She has seen herself free. She wears a dark crimson gown, almost black. Her face is at peace.
But she is not yet ready to don the dark gown.
She only wears the pale blue dress. Despite her endless tortured existence she lives to help.

I have never been so humbled. Felt so unworthy.

She is noble. Innocent. Terrifying.

I am the goddess Nephthys and I try to run from her despite broken limbs. Blindly I stumble away, the physical pain ignored. I fall. I run.
She calls me queen but I am a coward.

I run.
Leaving behind the lonely child.

The bravest girl on earth.

(excerpt from the novel „Last Goddess”-available on Amazon.)