Cursed Times - Only Yesterday! Sequel to Wattys 2015 winner!

Chapter 22: Metjen - Déjà Vu

'Metjen?

A jet-lag of a magnitude measuring in light years was assaulting his brain. So many voices. So many colours, emotions, smells—so much of everything, all at once. So many possibilities born and dying before his inner eye. The mirrors could not prepare him for this. Nothing could. And above it all the voice of Ra, the things he had been told... . Nauseous was how he felt; lost, lonely and terrified of the light.

The smell was only irritating by comparison, that stink of burned metal, of acid biting into his senses. With cardamom as a finishing touch.

Burning metal and cardamom? Metjen tried to hold on to the thought and the amazement that came as an aside. So pleasant to still harbour emotions.

It's the signature of your magic, Iseret's voice rang through the din. I much prefer my myrrh.

He lost it again. Whirling along in a raging river, every air bubble a world of its own... .

Something mind-slapped his cheek. You need to focus better. We have no time for these musings of yours.

Yes, the emotions were still functioning. He was royally pissed off. 'Thanks, Iseret, for being your usual supportive self.'

You are most welcome!

Metjen felt the feathery touch of fingertips on what had to be his forehead. A strand of now stood out in the whirling chaos; Metjen sensed Imhotep's presence, latched on and emerged from the maelstrom in his mind. Feeling his feet on the ground made the world cease its fiendish spin. It helped that he was standing and not moving around. Trying to think while shifting limbs still comprised a major challenge at the best of times; it made him feel like an overgrown toddler lost on a magical super highway.

Metjen controlled his ragged breathing and got his bearings; he appeared to be hosting the full circle in the council chambers of the late high priest of Ra. This luxurious environment felt a trifle oppressive, but it would be a while before he was in any position to exorcise the taste of his predecessor. And no matter what, he would never use that bathroom at the back. The holiest of holies also gave him bad vibes, but that place would be harder to avoid given that it was a natural habitat for a high priest.

'You need to be able to find your focus quicker than that,' his ancestor said.

'Brother Metjen was not doing so badly until he attempted to create three portals in a row,' the high priestess of Isis pointed out while rocking gently in mid-air.

'Give me a few minutes, and I'll try again.' Metjen sunk onto one of the plump cushions in his predecessor's suite. 'My powers ran away with me for a moment, now I know what to expect. And while we're waiting for me to recharge, maybe somebody can explain that business with Pharao again. I still haven't sussed out the finer details, I keep getting distracted.'

Imhotep for once was not hovering. Instead, he was roaming through the hall, his lips compressed into a single line. 'If you refuse to take his Majesty with you, his life will be forfeit.'

'I find it hard to be believe the Queen really wants to kill that kid,' Metjen said.

Iseret's voice echoed through the remains of the turmoil in his brain. It is not murder she has on her mind, it's worse. She wishes him to marry one of his half-sisters. Those few possibilities the circle can behold indicate that his death would be the ultimate consequence of such an action.

'Okay run, this past me once more. I understand the Queen isn't Pharaoh's birthmother.' Metjen noticed he was chewing his thumb and decided such a habit was out of synch with his new position. He dropped his hand.