The priests had read the signs and the signs were clear: the Phoenix was returning to Heliopolis.
The Phoenix’s hundred-year life was coming to an end, and it would return to the city, the place of its birth and death. The news was announced with the flying of flags; the blaring of horns and pounding of drums; boats and runners sent to Pharaoh’s court. Pharaoh himself soon arrived, his court a vast, colorful flotilla on the Nile, and settled into the palace at Heliopolis to await the Phoenix’s arrival. Hundreds of others came too, from all corners of Egypt, streaming in through the city gates, all eyes turned to the sky.
On a day hot and dry as fire, a star appeared in the southern sky, a dot of red-gold that drew closer and closer. By the time evening fell, the Phoenix had arrived. Horns and drums sounded once more, temple dancers raised their sistra in praise, incense smoke cloaked the altars of Ra, and thousands ran to view the mystical bird, perched on one of Pharaoh’s obelisks. The entire city—nay, the kingdom—was ecstatic with joy and awe.
Except one.
“Neferet,” said Anat, standing in the workroom doorway, “we’re out of persimmons. Go to the market and get more.”
Neferet continued beheading blue lotus flowers. “We’re not out of persimmons, Mother.”
“We are. Just take a basket and head to the market!”
“Make Iset go.”
“Iset’s already out.”
Of course, Neferet thought sourly. Iset was out staring at that stupid bird along with everyone else. “The market will be a madhouse. Full of rogues, thieves and invalids here to see the Phoenix. You shouldn’t want me to go there. In Babylon, they don’t make women go to the market.”
Anat folded her arms. “Yes, well, this isn’t Babylon. This is Egypt, where women must leave the house, go to the market, run businesses, manage money and talk to strange men. It’s pure oppression, I know, but that’s the way it is. So get a basket, get some money and get going.”
Neferet sighed but put down her knife. There was no point in arguing when Anat took that tone, as she knew from long years of working alongside her mother.
Anat and Neferet were makers of incense, perfume and scented unguents, their main customer being the Temple of the Sun here in Heliopolis. Since returning to her parents’ house, Neferet had immured herself in the workroom, extracting scents, pressing incense cakes and mixing spices. It had been a good hiding place—until the Phoenix showed up.
Neferet grabbed a basket and took some money, not bothering to change out of her stained work dress. It would just get ruined in the marketplace, and anyway no one would be looking at Neferet. They’d all be gawping at the Phoenix.
Neferet stepped out into a blaze of sunshine and roar of noise. Their street was usually fairly quiet, but not today. Today the crowds overspilling from the marketplaces and plazas surged through, bald priests, dusty peasant women, naked children, all pushing and scuffling, necks craned toward the sky. Neferet wrinkled her nose at the stench of sweat, unwashed bodies, and excrement. Having a perfumer’s nose wasn’t always an advantage. This crowd was even worse than most, since so many were old or ill, pus dribbling from suppurating boils, or worse.
“Mama, is it true the Phoenix sheds magic dust that cures every disease?” said a little girl with an ugly burn scar.
“That’s right!” her mother said. “With every wingbeat, the Phoenix sheds fire dust, flakes of the sun itself, that cure all ailments of the heart and the body.” She hugged her daughter. “We’re going to cure you, my honey.”
Neferet hung back in the doorway, clinging to the post, while the crowd swirled and chattered:
“The Phoenix travels the world, from the mountains to the sea…”
“It is the Eyes of Ra, the means by which he views the world…”
“With every draft from its magical wings, it blows a memory of the places it’s visited…”
“Every hundred years it returns to Heliopolis, to burn itself to ashes and be reborn…”
“A good year…a fortunate year…”
“It’s in the Temple gardens!” someone shouted, and the crowd stampeded off down the street.
Neferet waited until the worst of the mass had passed. Then she ran toward the market.
She knew her mother hadn’t really sent her out for persimmons. Anat had invented different reasons to send Neferet out of the house since the day of the Phoenix’s arrival. She wanted the Phoenix to shed its sacred golden dust over Neferet, to cure her of her pain.
But Neferet’s pain was too precious to give up. So Neferet, alone of all the city, ran with her head down, determined not to look up. She kept to the edge of the street, near the wall, and ran as fast as she could to the mazy stalls and alleys of the fruit market. There she made her way to the family’s favorite vendor.
“Persimmons?” From Bener’s expression, Neferet might have asked for the golden apples of the gods. “We don’t have any persimmons. We barely have anything left at all!” She gestured at the ranks of empty baskets laid out on her counter. “The visitors have eaten us out.”
Neferet let out a long sigh. “We haven’t been able to get new supplies for days now. The sooner that miserable bird blows itself up, the better.”
“Watch your tongue!” Bener gasped. “That’s the Phoenix you’re talking about!” Then her gaze went past Neferet. She gasped, a look of pure wonder dawning on her face.
Neferet turned, knowing already what she would see.
Despite the produce shortage, the fruit market was still crowded, both visitors and locals all crammed in. Now that human mass all surged and seethed, heads going up, fingers pointing. Above them floated a heron of flame, riding the thermals over the city.
The Phoenix circled overhead, watching the humans below with great, fiery blue eyes. Everything about it was fiery: its beak shone like gold, a crest of living flames blazed from its head. Its plumage was halfway between shining feathers and licks of fire, each flame pulsing with the colors of ruby, gold, sapphire and topaz. So great was its beauty, so divine its wonder, that even Neferet gazed, transfixed.
The Phoenix flapped its wings, blowing a wind down on the mortals. Neferet felt the breeze on her face, unlike any she’d experienced in all her life here in the hot dry lands of Egypt. The Phoenix’s breeze was cool and moist, and in it she smelled cold water, rocks and some deep green scent she’d never encountered before. A vision rose before her eyes, of cold water babbling over moss-grown rocks, a great forest of dark trees under a freezing sky. This was a place the Phoenix had visited, she realized dazedly, a forest a long, long way from Egypt.
The fire dust began to fall.
A tiny golden spangle at first, sparking around the Phoenix’s wings. Then the dust began whirling down, a sparkling rain, wafting over the crowd. The humans all rushed, hands held out, faces upturned. Neferet watched as a woman with a horrible facial tumor shoved forward to let the dust fall on her disfigurement. The woman gasped, eyes lit with incredulous joy, as the tumor began to shrink, healthy skin replacing it.
And she wasn’t alone. All throughout the fruit market, people with hernias, broken limbs, poxes, lame legs, persistent malaria, all rejoiced in the miraculous powers of the dust now raining from the Phoenix’s wings.
The Phoenix’s fire dust could cure all ailments of the body—and of the heart.
Urgent horror chilled through Neferet. Dropping her basket, she ducked under the counter of Bener’s stall, crawling into the dark, dusty space. A rat squeaked and vanished into the shadows. Neferet curled up, hands over her eyes, murmuring his name: “Remi, Remi, Remi…”
Outside, the roar of the crowd seemed to be dying down. Cautiously, Neferet lowered her hands and peered out.
A pair of male legs appeared. A face, shadowed from the sun, peered down at her. “Neferet?”
“Hello, Sethos,” said Neferet after a long moment.
Sethos, as bronzed and muscular as ever, grinned down at her with white teeth. He wore a clean white kilt and a necklace of black onyx and polished carnelian, metal bracelets on his arms. His distinctive scent reached Neferet’s nose: olive oil, a whiff of frankincense, and river water.
“It’s you, Neferet!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing down there?”
“Avoiding being trampled, of course.” Neferet crawled out and climbed to her feet, ignoring Sethos’s proffered hand. She tried not to think how dirty and scruffy she looked next to Sethos’s fresh-scrubbed cleanliness. “What are you doing back in the city, Sethos? Why aren’t you upriver raiding the Nubians or whatever it is you do?”
“I’m here to see the Phoenix, of course.” Sethos waved a leather bag. “I just got some of its dust as well! I’m going to make a fortune out of it.”
“Better wait to sell it. Phoenix dust is the cheapest thing in the city right now.”
“Don’t worry, I will.” Sethos tucked his bag into his waist wrap and held out Neferet’s market basket. “Here’s your basket, by the way.”
Neferet snatched it back with a scowl. “Stealing unprotected women’s baskets now, are we, Sethos?”
“Such effusive thanks, Neferet! However will I cope with such praise?” Sethos’s teasing smile faded into something more serious. “Neferet…I heard about Remi. I’m sorry.”
For a moment, Neferet was unable to move. “He is with the gods now,” she said at last, and winced at the inanity of this rote response.
“Indeed.” Sethos looked at the abandoned fruit stall; Bener, naturally, had run off after the market crowds in pursuit of the Phoenix. “I’ll miss him, though. He was my friend.”
Rage, irrational and unstoppable, rose in Neferet. “Oh? Was he? Are you? We all know you wanted to marry me yourself, you crocodile!”
“Neferet, that’s got nothing to do with—”
“Don’t.” Neferet hardly knew what she was objecting to here. Sethos’s sympathy? His protestations of innocence? The fact of Remi’s death? “Just—don’t.”
Neferet turned on her heel and ran away, back to her parents’ house, leaving Sethos alone in the abandoned market.
“So!” said Anat over dinner that evening. “I heard the Phoenix flew over the fruit market today.” She gave Neferet a hopeful glance.
Neferet munched on a chunk of bread. She and her parents were eating in the courtyard, lined up on a bench, holding their bowl and cups, their old servant Iset standing by with a jug of wine. Outside, drums boomed from the temple and the palace, and loud cries rang out as people pursued the Phoenix around the city. But here in the courtyard all was calm and peaceful. The massed perfumes of Anat’s scent garden enveloped them in a warm fog.
“I wonder when the Phoenix will finally immolate itself,” said Seneb. Neferet’s father was a minor priest at the Temple, of no great importance or wealth, but known for his scholarship and calm thoughtfulness. “They say it happens three days after it arrives in the city, but it’s been a week and still no sign.”
“The sooner the better, I say,” growled Neferet.
“Neferet!” Anat scolded.
“The city’s gone completely mad,” said Neferet. “So many invalids here for the dust—there’s bound to be plague soon. There was nothing to buy at the market. Once the Phoenix sets itself alight and flies away or whatever it does, we can all get back to normal.”
Seneb gave her a long look. “Normal, Neferet?” he said gently.
Neferet hunched her shoulders against her father’s penetrating gaze. Nervous fingers shredded her bread.
“It’s been a year, Neferet,” said Seneb at last. “Don’t you think it’s time to…?”
“What? Start looking for another husband?” Neferet’s laugh was harsh. “No one could replace Remi.” She cast about for a change of subject. “Sethos is back in the city.”
“Sethos?” Anat perked up. “The river captain? Did you see him at the market?”
“Yes.” Already Neferet deeply regretted mentioning Sethos. “He came back to see the Phoenix. We…talked.”
Anat looked even happier. “We’ll have to invite him for dinner.”
“As if we could get any proper food to serve him. The markets are all cleaned out, remember?” Neferet stood. “I’ll go start cleaning up.”
She carried her plate and cup into the kitchen. Behind her, she heard Anat saying to Seneb, “Do you think it’s Remi’s ghost feeding on her, Seneb? Maybe we should get a lictor priest to exorcise her.”
“Remi’s ghost shouldn’t be hungry,” Seneb replied, though he sounded worried. “Gods know, Neferet leaves enough offerings at his tomb. It’s just grief, Anat. Give her time.”
“It’s been a year! If only she’d let the Phoenix gift her with fire dust…”
Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, Neferet started cleaning up, determined to hear no more.
Iset followed her into the darkening kitchen. “Your mother’s right, you know,” she said. “You can’t mourn Remi forever.”
Neferet stirred the fire, making flames spit and reminding her of the Phoenix. She wondered where the fiery bird was roosting tonight.
“That Sethos is a handsome man.” Iset’s voice turned sly. “I always wondered that you didn’t pick him. Like a young lion, he is.”
“More like a crocodile.” Neferet turned away from the fire. “He’ll always be more faithful to his ship than a wife. He loves sailing the Nile too much to ever settle down with a family.” Remi had been Sethos’s opposite. The young scribe had been like a rooted fig tree, strong and sure and steady, while Sethos blew around like the wind. Or the Phoenix.
“Sethos hasn’t changed,” Neferet continued. “He’ll never change. He’s still utterly maddening!”
“Sounds like someone still likes him,” Iset murmured, and was gone before Neferet could retort.
The next day, after breakfast, Neferet, Anat and Iset packed baskets with jars of perfume and incense. They stepped out into the maddened city, to take their finished products to the Temple of the Sun.
Anat and Neferet kept the Temple well-supplied with perfumes and incense, jars of complex scent for offerings, blocks of incense to burn around the altars. No one could match Anat’s skill in mixing and balancing scents, and Neferet had inherited her talent. That fact had once brought Neferet joy and pride, especially during the six months of her marriage. Thanks to Remi’s connections, she’d worked directly for the Temple, mixing ingredients too precious to keep in a private home: frankincense, myrrh, ambergris. She’d delighted in composing perfumes and incense from such rarities—but that, like so much else, had come to an end when her marriage had.
Six months. She’d had only six months with Remi.
The Temple of the Sun in Heliopolis was the greatest in the land. Even Neferet, who had been coming in and out of the sacred complex all her life, still caught her breath when the sun hit the stark white walls, the gold roof trimmings flashing with the power of Ra. Today the Temple was even more charged than usual. The sound of flutes and drums rose, and the massed chattering of crowds. Aromatic smoke rose from offering fires, clouding the roof, stinging Neferet’s nose. But when they came within sight of the Temple gate, unexpected guards stood with their spears and swords ready, holding back the mass of curious sightseers.
Anat came to a halt, pressed against the wall by the crowd. “Oh, no!” she muttered. “Pharaoh’s here at the temple today. We’ll have to come back another time.”
“After we’ve come all this way?” Neferet protested. “In this crowd?” A stranger, face disfigured by weeping sores, shoved against her, and she shrank away, fearful of contagion.
Anat bit her lip, eyeing Neferet. “We’ll go to the side door,” she decided. “Maybe the steward will take our perfumes, at least.”
The three women battled on, pushing through the crowds, threading through side streets and alleyways, until they reached a small side door in the temple wall. The crush wasn’t so bad here, and there were no royal guards. They ran for the door and, pushing it open, spilled into the temple courtyard.
It was hushed here, deserted but for a few chickens pecking about. The birds cocked their heads at the women, reminding Neferet of the Phoenix, which was so extraordinarily like and unlike these mundane little animals…Her reverie was broken by a new, unfamiliar voice.
“Hello?” The young scribe stood in the loggia, peering at them curiously.
Neferet felt her mouth go dry. Remi…he was just like Remi, from his shaved head to his gentle eyes. Remi, who had also served as a scribe in the Temple of the Sun.
The world spun around Neferet. Anat was saying something about the steward, but Neferet couldn’t make sense of her mother’s words. A hand caught her, caught her basket, and Neferet stared blearily into Iset’s anxious face.
“Neferet?” said the old servant. “Are you all right?”
“I…” Neferet groped for words.
“Sit down.” Iset guided her into the loggia and sat her on a stone bench.
“Perhaps she needs water.” The scribe squinted at her in concern. Up close, he didn’t look so much like Remi, and Neferet relaxed a little, head clearing. “I’ll fetch some.”
“Yes, thank you,” said Anat. “Neferet, what’s wrong?” she asked as the scribe hurried away, sandals tapping the stone floor.
Neferet just shook her head and looked away, across the small, dusty courtyard.
There stood Sethos, like a figure in a dream. He stood just inside the door, holding an alabaster jar in his hands. The river captain stared at her, looking just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
Anat looked up and beamed. “Sethos! What a surprise!” She bustled across the courtyard. “Are you here to make an offering?”
“Yes. I have myrrh from Punt.” Sethos hefted the alabaster jar.
“How good of you!” Anat cried. “Are you staying at your brother’s house in the city?”
“Afraid not.” Sethos gave his old charming smile. “The city is so crowded now, with the Phoenix visiting, that I thought it safer to stay on my ship in case of thieves.”
“Most intelligent of you. Neferet, you should…” Anat trailed off, her gaze turning skyward. As did Sethos’s and Iset’s.
Oh, no, Neferet thought as the fire dust began to fall.
Like a golden rain, it fell, filling the tiny, insignificant temple courtyard with a glittering mist. Anat cried out in wonder, holding out her arms, and Iset fell to her knees, wrinkled face alight with joy. Sethos raised his head, dust coating his hair and shoulders, glittering on his kilt, like the statue of some blazing young god.
The Phoenix flapped its wings, and a wind blew through the courtyard, swirling the dust. In this wind, Neferet smelt earth and grass. A great sea of green grass, stretching to the horizon beneath a blue sky scattered with clouds. Vast herds of strange beasts moved across the plain, huge shaggy cattle with thick brown coats, humps and curving horns. Flowers of vivid blue grew among the grass, and Neferet soared over it all, heart singing for the joy of flight…
“Neferet!” Anat’s voice echoed through the vision. “Neferet, come out here. Take some dust!”
The Phoenix’s vision evaporated. “No!” Neferet scrambled away, deeper into the loggia. She would not surrender more of herself to the Phoenix’s magic. She would not let its dust heal her of her pain. The pain that was all she had left of Remi.
“Neferet!” But Neferet was already stumbling through the doors, into the safety of the temple building. She collapsed to the floor, breathing hard.
She didn’t want the Phoenix or its dust. She wanted Remi, back alive again.
A shadow darkened the doorway. Sethos, still glittering with magical fire dust, stood in the frame. “Well,” he said, “that’s the second time we’ve met the Phoenix together, Neferet! Do you think it’s following us around?”
“Go away, Sethos.” Neferet wiped her tears.
Sethos crouched down in the doorway. There came a faint chink as he set his offering jar aside. “How did he die, Neferet?” he asked. “No one’s told me.”
“Fever.” Neferet stared at an ant crossing from one floor tile to the next, stumbling in the crack. “It took just three days for him to die, after he fell ill.” She still had nightmares of those three awful days. Remi tossing and turning, skin burning up, eyes glazed. The sleeplessness, the desperation, the growing hopelessness as everything she tried failed. “After he died…his family took everything but my widow’s portion. There were no children, you see, no heirs.” How she’d hoped that Remi might have left her with some small piece of himself. But no, her womb had been left as empty as her heart. “I went back to my parents.” Her marriage erased, as though it had never been.
“They love you, Neferet,” Sethos said quietly. “They’re worried about you.”
“I know.” Neferet took a deep, shaky breath. “Mother wants me to bathe in the Phoenix’s dust. She thinks it will cure me.” She fell quiet, watching the ant. “The Phoenix dies in its own fire and is reborn. Or so they say. People aren’t like that.”
“No,” said Sethos with blunt honesty. “We’re not. I’ve seen enough men die to know that.” He held out his hand, still glittering with fire dust. “But we are living still, Neferet. So are your mother and Iset. Come on—the shadows are no place for the living!”
“How would you know, pirate?” But Neferet took his hand. It was warm, strong and callused. Some of the dust rubbed off onto her own hand, and she watched it sparkle like sunlight as Sethos pulled her to her feet.
The dawning rays of Ra stretched across the desert, sparkling on the Nile. Papyrus thickets rustled in the morning breeze. Geese and ibis awoke, flapping their wings, and crocodiles rose from the muddy depths, eyes glinting like topaz.
The city too came awake, dawn glinting on the Temple finials. The priests of Ra rose to greet the sun with prayers, and Pharaoh’s court slowly stirred. In the city houses, citizens rose from their beds, and at the various inns, visitors blinked open bleary eyes. In the city streets, those visitors too poor for inns awoke, lifting their heads, hoping for a glimpse of the Phoenix that might change their lives.
For the Phoenix still soared over Heliopolis. It rode the thermals, flames licking out from each feather, eyes like burning coals. But its flight seemed unsteady today, odd gouts of fire flaring from its wings and back. It wobbled slightly in the sky, swaying. The end was near.
Neferet had awoken early and slipped out of the house, threading through the streets to the river shore. Now she walked beside the Nile, enjoying the scent of water and wet earth, of massed papyrus. Absently, she rubbed the spot on her hand where the Phoenix’s dust had fallen from Sethos’s hand onto hers.
She found Sethos’s ship, moored alongside many others, far from the main docks. “Good morning!” she called to the drowsy watchman. “I’m here to see your captain.”
The sailor, after blinking and staring a moment, called back into the ship. Neferet waited, listening to the water lapping at the shore.
Movement on the ship, and then the gangplank slid down. Sethos strode down, sunlight gleaming on his shining hair, gilding his muscled arms. “Neferet?”
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” said Neferet. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to find you later in the day.”
“So eager?” Sethos flashed those pearly teeth at her. “That’s not like you, Neferet!”
“You wish,” snapped Neferet, then sighed. “I—I wanted to thank you. For yesterday. For listening.”
“Don’t thank me.” Again that lightning-grin. “It was my pleasure, Neferet.”
To her surprise, this warmed Neferet’s heart. For the first time since Remi’s death, the pain seemed a little diminished. Something about yesterday—her collapse, followed by confiding in Sethos—had broken a dam in Neferet’s heart. The pain and grief were slowly starting to trickle out, whether she wanted them to or not.
“Thank you,” she said again. “This doesn’t mean I like you, though,” she added quickly.
“Of course not.” Sethos’s eyes twinkled.
They stood and regarded each other for a long moment. “Seen the Phoenix anywhere?” Neferet asked at last.
“Not since yesterday.” Sethos glanced up at the sky, empty but for ordinary birds. “Maybe it’s given up following us.”
“I doubt it was following us, Sethos,” said Neferet. “It probably went to the Temple to immolate itself.”
“Is that where it goes?”
“Where else would it go?”
“The Phoenix seems to go where it wants, when it wants. Rather like me.” Sethos stretched, pulling his arms back, and Neferet was momentarily distracted by the movement of his toned muscles. “It certainly hasn’t confined itself to the Temple so far, and why should it?” He relaxed and grinned at her. “They say anyone who witnesses the Phoenix’s immolation will be lucky forever. That they’ll live a hundred years, just as the Phoenix does.”
“What foolishness…” Neferet trailed off.
The golden rain was falling again. Fire dust, falling around her and Sethos in a shining curtain. Cries came from the ship, but they seemed far away. Everything seemed far away. Everything but the dust.
Fire dust soaked into the ground, drowned itself in the Nile. Neferet raised her arm, glittering like the flesh of a goddess. Sethos glittered too, covered in the Phoenix’s dust. His eyes were huge, and for once he seemed lost for words.
Neferet looked up to see the Phoenix high overhead. It was getting bigger and bigger, flame pouring from its outstretched wings—and now light was flooding down, brilliant light, light brighter than any Neferet had ever seen, extinguishing the fire dust, drowning out the light of Ra—
Sethos yelled and lunged, snatching Neferet aside just as the Phoenix flung itself to the ground, exactly where she’d been standing, and exploded into flames.
Sethos and Neferet clutched each other, shrinking from the brilliance, the sudden wave of intense heat. The Phoenix ignited itself with a great cry, a pure, bell-like note that silenced the men of the ship and the creatures of the Nile, and a great curtain of fire rose, white with heat.
Bathed in its divine light and heat, Neferet and Sethos watched as the Phoenix was consumed by its own fires. The sacred bird went up in flames, every feather melting, transforming into pure fire that rose up, up, scorching the very sun, until, with a vast sigh, it unfurled, dissipating into nothing.
The transition to ordinary daylight was so abrupt that Neferet felt like she’d been struck blind. Squinting through the sudden darkness, she and Sethos peered at the pile of pure white ash lying on the shore. A frog croaked from the river. The ship creaked.
A tongue of flame, transparent and near colorless, crackled to life in the middle of the ash heap. It grew and grew, color flooding into it, wings of red and gold unfurling, a feathered head rising, opening eyes of flaming blue, a crest of both feathers and fire, a beak of shining gold.
The Phoenix stood in the ashes of its own death, as huge and proud as before, and even more beautiful. Burnished flames danced and glided over crisp new feathers, and its ember-eyes were clear as daylight.
The Phoenix let out a single cry, echoing like a temple bell across the Nile. It opened its wings, flapped once, twice, spraying fire dust. It launched into the air, gaining more height with every sparking wingbeat. It circled high over the mortals’ heads, dust raining below, then soared off.
Neferet and Sethos stood on the bank of the Nile and watched the Phoenix disappear into the west. There had been no memory carried in the wind of those last wingbeats, for this was the Phoenix’s first flight after its rebirth. It was off to see the world, fresh and new.
Aboard the ship, Sethos’s men were cheering, exulting in the glory of what they’d just witnessed, the good fortune sure to follow. But Neferet and Sethos stood quiet, both glittering golden with fire dust, their hands clasped.
At last, Neferet turned to Sethos. “Good fortune?” She was grinning, she realized. For the first time since Remi’s death, she was giving a genuine, full-hearted grin. “A long life?”
“So they say.” He grinned back. “At the very least, we were incredibly lucky to see such a thing. What are the odds that the Phoenix would choose this very spot to burn, when we were here?”
Maybe it wasn’t odds or chance at all, Neferet reflected, that she and Sethos were here. Perhaps the Phoenix chose this spot because they were here. Or perhaps not.
I wish Remi could have seen this. The thought brought with it pain and grief. But the pain seemed old now, scratching with claws gone dull. Heavy. Too heavy to carry anymore.
Standing above the waters of the sacred Nile, shining like a goddess, Neferet leaned closer to Sethos. “Yes,” she said. “Good luck. Good fortune. A long life. I’m ready for it now.”
“And would you care for a companion, in this long life of good fortune?” Behind the feline confidence of Sethos’s smile was a raw edge of hope.
“Perhaps. Don’t let it go to your head, though,” she added sternly.
“I would never dare,” chuckled Sethos.
For a moment, the pair stood still, shimmering with fire dust in the light of Ra. Then, together, they moved forward into the new day.
Rose Strickman’s work has appeared over 70 times, in anthologies such as Sword and Sorceress 32 and Achilles: New & Ancient Greek Tales, along with several e-zines and her standalone story Island of the Drowned. Please see her Amazon author’s page or connect on Bluesky @rosestrickman.bsky.social.
Translunar Travelers Lounge 