Seth wasn’t even sure such a thing was possible. Still, the idea of unmaking a god intrigued him. The electric jolt, the infusion of cosmic elements that energized him each time he unmade a being was not something he’d neglected to notice. The more powerful the creature, the more energy he was able to draw into himself. Seth had quickly become addicted to the heady sensation that came with unmaking. He hadn’t dared try his new power on anyone who would be missed, let alone on an immortal, but his fingers itched with the desire to try. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather practice on than Osiris.
Just then, Isis left the room and Seth followed her, keeping to the shadows. If she’d used her abilities she could have discovered him easily, but the gods were complacent. They didn’t believe anyone was even capable of thinking ill of them, let alone doing them harm. Isis was as clueless as a newly hatched bird tucked safely in its nest, totally unaware of the snake gazing down upon it contemplating its meal.
Isis wound her way through the gleaming palace Amun-Ra had created until she finally exited and sat down on a marble bench overlooking a park. Young, lesser immortals played in the water fountain, squealing as they ran through the sprays of multicolored water. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.
Seth found the laughter of children an ugly thing. It reminded him of his youth when others had laughed at him during his pathetic attempts to conjure something, anything. Being around the young made his neck feel tight. Tightening his jaw, he indulged his fantasy to commit violence for only a moment and then reined in the very strong desire to unmake every creature in the vicinity. When he was in control, he approached Isis and managed to ignore the flash of discomfort he saw on her face.
“There you are,” he said nonchalantly, as if he’d only just happened upon her and hadn’t been following her since her arrival.
“Hello, Seth. Are you well?” she asked distractedly.
Beneath the folds of his tunic, he clenched his hands. One day he’d teach her that nothing in this or any world was as important as he was. Outwardly, he was all charm and deference. “Well enough,” he said, and then took a page from Osiris’s playbook. “I have an idea I’d like to run by you. If you have a moment to spare, that is.” Seth’s teeth almost ached with the wide leer he gave her. It was an unnatural expression for him.
“Of course,” she said. “What is it?”
“I . . .” Seth racked his mind to come up with something, a new invention that would inveigle and impress Isis. When he didn’t answer her immediately, she turned her storm-cloud eyes on him fully. He wasn’t used to such directness. Most people became uncomfortable and turned away when facing him for more than a few minutes.
Seth knew he wasn’t much to look at. Not compared to the other gods. He’d always been tall, but his long limbs were thin, gangly. Only recently, since he came into his power, had he noticed his body filling out. He considered his eyes too watery a blue. His hair too nondescript. And he was cursed with not one, but two cowlicks that made his hair jut up awkwardly no matter how many times he ran his hands through it.
Unlike the other gods, whose skin radiated with energy and light, his was blotchy and uneven. It was almost as bad as a mortal’s. That was probably what he reminded them of. A mortal. Even his own mother, the one person who was supposed to love him unconditionally, wept almost every time they spoke. Her tears rained down upon the Earth until he stood in a sopping mess of her sorrow that he was sure indicated her disappointment in having such a normal sort of powerless man-child for a son.
Then there was the fact that clothing never seemed to fit him properly either. Even animals would run away when they saw him, or worse, would urinate in his path or growl as they peered at him with gleaming eyes in the darkness. Of course, that didn’t happen anymore. Strangely, animals seemed to have a sixth sense. They avoided him or slunk away as quietly and as quickly as possible. He rather liked the respect they now showed him. In his opinion, it made them the superior species on Earth.
With Isis’s eyes on him, Seth couldn’t think, and for a moment he was as tongue-tied as he’d been when he was a youth. She’d always been quicker. Sharper tongued. Isis was always one to compete and had bested him at everything. An idea suddenly came to him. “I’ve invented a new game. And I’m wondering if you would consider playing it with me tonight.”
“A game?” she asked, the delight obvious on her face. Her eyes predictably lit at the idea of a competition. “What do you call it? How do you play?”
“It’s called . . . it’s called senet,” he pronounced, letting the made-up word fall smoothly from his tongue.
“Is it a game of strength, running, or archery?”
“None of those,” Seth answered. Of course her mind would turn to the physical (all the easier to best him in that regard). Either that or she was looking for a way to gawk at Osiris flexing his muscles. At the thought, Seth had to consciously control the tremor of irascibility that rose in him. “Senet is a game of wits with a dash of luck.”
Isis beamed, and to Seth it appeared almost genuine. This helped to soothe his ruffled feathers. “It sounds like the perfect distraction. When can we play?”
“How about after the council adjourns?”
“Oh.” Isis let out a puff of breath. It was obvious she was thinking of something, or perhaps someone, else she could meet with after the council.
“Ah, I see you’ve already made plans. You are understandably too busy.” Seth stood and adjusted his tunic, pulling it tightly over his narrow shoulders.
“No,” Isis said, raising a hand to stop him from departing. “After the council meeting sounds perfect.”
Seth gave her a slight bow, and took leave of her then, escaping quickly. There wasn’t much time until the feasting would begin. He’d have to use every spare moment to create the game he’d boasted of.
The problem was he wasn’t creative enough to come up with something that would impress Isis on his own. He knew creativity wasn’t his strength, but he’d wasted a few precious hours trying anyway.
By the time he got to the toy maker’s cottage he was sweating profusely, and despite his status as a god, he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. He ran a hand over his face and grimaced as he felt the patchy bumps of hair. He’d have to shave if he wanted to look presentable for Isis. Then he blinked and attempted to unmake the irritating bristles on his chin and upper lip. Within the space of a second, they’d disappeared. Seth smiled and called out for the toy maker.
He had waited too long. As the old man shuffled into the store, Seth leapt toward him. There was no time for politeness. Seth curled his lip, took the toy maker by the collar, and lifted him off his feet, issuing his demands in as succinct and clear a manner as he could, warning him that there would be dire consequences if he ended up late to the feast.