The Memory Painter

Thoth could tell that Ramses was about to erupt again and tried to make his brother see reason. “Seth, the members of the House of Atum are the people’s last link to a lost history. Someone must be entrusted to be the keepers of this sacred knowledge.”

“Why? Why do you blindly accept the law?” Seth shouted. “Only they know the full spectrum of the sciences and arts, which are all but forgotten by the people. They alone control the power of the Great Pyramid, distancing themselves from the outside world.”

Ramses banged both fists on the table this time. “To keep what they safeguard from being corrupted by greed!”

Seth glared back at his father. “The Guardians have always been archaic, and they have become pompous in their isolation. Society is voracious, Father. It will always search for a way to destroy anything that exists outside of it.”

Ramses bellowed, “How dare you speak such words at my table? Do you think I do not know what poison you are brewing outside these walls? The High Priestess chose your brother to sire the next Guardian. Do not forget you fought for the honor too. And lost.”

At this, Seth fell silent. His father was the one man who was still able to put him in his place. A scholar and a warrior, Ramses was also a father to the people. He was as noble as a king, and he possessed a fair and true heart. But Thoth had never seen him angrier.

Ramses took Seth’s wine goblet and turned it over, signaling that Seth was no longer welcome to drink at his table. “I am ashamed to call you my son.”

“Then I will be no longer.” Without another word, Seth stood up and stormed out of the house.

Thoth and his father both sat in silence. Thoth knew Seth was not a lone voice clamoring for change—the threat of which he spoke was real. The opposition would use the transition as an excuse to challenge the balance of power. Still, he tried to have hope. “Don’t worry, Father. He will return.”

Ramses shook his head. “Your brother is not the man you think he is. Some days, I’d swear Kiya took his spirit with her when she died. I do not know him anymore.” He stood up and went to his writing table.

Thoth noticed how painfully he moved. For the first time in his life, his father looked truly frail. “Are you unwell?” Thoth asked.

Ramses brushed off the question with a wave of his hand and returned from his desk with a sealed scroll. “Give this to the High Priestess and no one else.”

Thoth held his surprise in check. Only the House of Atum knew how to read the inscriptions left by Heliopolis’ ancestors. The people remembered a few of the symbols, but not enough to make use of them—to do what Hermese called reading or writing. Their history had been carried down orally, through the stories told by the priests. Ramses had taught Seth and Thoth more symbols than most parents, but Thoth had not placed much importance in the lessons. He could not imagine why his father had written to Hermese, but had enough self-discipline not to ask. He did not recognize the seal on the scroll. It was neither the council’s nor their family emblem.

Ramses handed Thoth the scroll and clasped his arm. “By the powers of Re, may she be with child before the next moon.”

*

That night Thoth made love to Hermese with a ferocity he could not restrain. Afterward, as they lay beside each other, he recounted his visit home and handed her the scroll. She did not open it, but, instead, studied the seal.

“What is it?” Thoth asked.

“An answer.” She smiled and put the scroll away in a small wooden chest.

“You will not read it in front of me? What secrets could you possibly have with my father?” he teased.

She laughed but said nothing.

“Fine, keep your secrets then.” Thoth grabbed her and pulled her back on the pillows. “I’ll share mine. I never want to leave here, ever, or to leave you.”

Hermese hugged him close. “My heart feels the same,” she admitted, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I have found a way to give us more time.” She reached over to her dressing table and took out a miniature clay pot. Her voice grew softer still. “As long as I drink this, I will not be with child.”

Thoth sat up and whispered, “You break every ancient law.”

“Then tell me not to drink it.”

Thoth could not say the words. He wanted to steal as much time with her as possible.

She poured the dark, viscous liquid into a cup and drank it in one swallow. “We will fulfill our duty, but not just yet,” she said and crawled back under the sheets and kissed him. They never spoke of it again.