“Perhaps you’re right,” Osiris acceded. “It would be easier. But the easiest path is not always the best one. Struggle often strengthens.”
“An interesting debate, to be sure,” Amun-Ra said with a quick glance at Nephthys, “but I’m more interested in music at present.” The staunchly neutral diplomatic leader of the gods pressed on, insisting they change the subject in his own way. “Osiris, what musicians have you brought us this time?”
Osiris reluctantly drew his eyes away from Seth. “Ah, yes, I nearly forgot. On my last journey I came across two men who have created an instrument they call a sistrum.”
The table was cleared as the musicians set up. Osiris couldn’t help but be pleased when he overheard Seth trying to spirit Isis away for the promised game, but she waved her hand, saying that she’d meet him after the musicians were finished. Then his rising confidence took a hit when she added that the music was what she enjoyed the most about having Osiris visit. When Seth whined, trying to manipulate her into doing what he wanted, Nephthys volunteered to play him first.
It was clear that Seth was undecided, so to help him move along, Osiris approached and bowed briefly to Isis. “I was wondering if I could entice my . . . my dear friend to a dance?”
Isis glared at Osiris, obviously still upset about his siding with Amun-Ra, if not about other things. She replied a bit coldly, “I wouldn’t know. Do you have any friends here?”
Seth chortled in delight. “Come, Nephthys, my dear. We’ll return for Isis later.” He brazenly stroked Isis’s silky wing. “Don’t be too long,” he said. “I’ve been looking forward to besting you in this game.”
Osiris clenched his fists and frowned.
“I’d offer to play you,” Seth said to Osiris, “but I’m afraid it might be a little bit over your head,” he teased with pinched fingers, trying to indicate the size of Osiris’s intellect.
Osiris itched to bang Seth’s head against the wall but somehow managed to restrain himself. “Move along and play your little games, Seth. Some of us have more important things to do.”
Seth's calculating eyes turned sharp, dangerous, but Nephthys quickly whispered something in his ear. It must have been an effective distraction, because the two of them soon left. Since Isis was ignoring him, Osiris turned his attention to the musicians as their music swelled, filling the halls of Heliopolis.
When they finished a series of merry tunes, one of the musicians lifted his eyebrows toward Osiris. He nodded, acknowledging the request, and when the new song began, his voice rose in accompaniment.
Isis closed her eyes and rocked slightly, her wings quivering as every nerve in her body seemed to hum along in response. Her voice was powerful when it came to weaving spells, but no one could best Osiris in weaving songs. He sang of snowcapped mountains and valleys of recently tilled black soil waiting to be planted. Of hills covered with sweet blue grass and of waterfalls that plummeted so far, the water dissipated into clouds on the way down.
She was so caught up in the notes and the words; Isis knew she could glide forever on the current of his music. She let Osiris’s voice buoy her up until the end, when he’d set her feet gently back on the ground before sweeping her away into the next song. His music filled her with peace and, at the same time, unrest. With a deep satisfaction and with a terrible longing. The wanting was never so powerful as when he sang.
When he pulled her into his arms, it felt natural. They’d danced together a thousand times, but this time was different. It was new. She felt the song flow through him into her. The words he sang now were quiet and gentle but deeply felt. He sang of unspoken wishes and heartache. Of places he hadn’t yet seen and of those imagined things so beautiful he couldn’t find the words because describing them would somehow diminish the dream.
She’d kept her eyes closed as they moved together, and only at the end of the song did she realize how badly her limbs were shaking; Osiris was supporting most of her weight. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and as a new song began, this time without his vocal accompaniment, Osiris pulled her close. “Will you walk in the garden with me?” he asked softly.
Silently, she nodded and he took her arm, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. They walked in silence, and Isis was suddenly acutely aware of everything: the rustle of her wings; the feel of his arm; the way his hand cupped hers almost possessively, as if he was trying to prevent her escape; the troubled, almost determined expression on his face; and then, when they got close enough, the smell of the flowers wafting from his garden.
Osiris was fiercely proud of his enchanted garden. Even when he was abroad, plants of all description were sent via messenger with explicit instructions for their care. He employed a whole staff of gardeners who cultivated and labeled each specimen, placing it in the proper location where it would thrive. Because of this, the vast area had been divided into several zones.
One almost desertlike environment housed the various slow-growing plants he called succulents. Another was devoted solely to herbs and vegetables, most of which were shared with the citizens of Heliopolis. There was an orchard that grew hundreds of different summer fruits. Acres were dedicated to the climbing vines.
Bushes as tall as homes grew fat berries of all colors. A section was dedicated to plants that grew in cold climates, and Amun-Ra had graciously provided the means to keep that area cool for centuries. The tropical plants were kept on the opposite side of the garden. There were greenhouses, shadehouses, and a giant arboretum with every kind of tree grown on Earth and on the other worlds they’d seeded.
Isis loved the garden and often visited it when Osiris was away. She felt close to him when she was there, but like him, she was drawn to the mortals. There were many who could see to the needs of the plants, but few who had the ability to travel to the mortal realm as they did and care for the people there.
She was surprised and happy when he brought her to a grove of nut trees. A cozy gazebo was tucked in the center. It was a place he’d had built for her when she was young. He gestured that she should take a seat and made sure she was comfortable before walking away. She stared at his back and wondered what troubled him so. That he was upset was obvious, but from her perspective, she should be the one angry with him, not the other way around.
“What is it, Osiris?”
He clasped his hands behind his back and turned his head so she could see his handsome face in profile. The sun had already set, and now the moon was rising, framing him in its orb and gilding the tips of his dark hair silver. Finally, he shifted, leaning back against a post. Folding his arms across his chest, he perused her from the shadows. He worked his jaw as if almost starting to speak, but then stopped himself as if he couldn’t trust his own voice.