Osahar

Osahar’s black hair obscured his view as he pulled handfuls of clay out of the cool and muddy water of the Nile. The sun beat down upon his exposed torso as he toiled away. While the water was cool, it waterlogged his limbs and added to his discomfort. His first day helping his father had turned out to be more work than he had imagined. After filling the pot sitting next to him on the bank, he dragged it towards his father’s workshop.

When Osahar returned that evening he was exhausted. His mother, Chione, just home from work at the brewery, wrapped him in fruit and barley scented arms, showering him with kisses on the forehead. His father Donkor, a renowned sculptor, joined in the onslaught of love. Without a word they disengaged and sat down to dinner. Chione had finished preparing their nightly meal, consisting of dried fish, bread and roasted radishes, and had placed their plates in front of them.

As they ate, Osahar’s father asked him about his day. “Now that you have seen what it takes to be a sculptor are you still interested in the profession?” he teased.

Osahar put down the piece of bread he was about to stuff into his mouth. “Gathering the clay is difficult, and Ra seemed determined to cook me, but perhaps if I sculpt his likeness he will be pleased and not make the task so difficult."

“If you get up earlier and complete the work before Ra has risen high it will be cooler,” Donkor said. “The sleepy dog never catches the rabbit.”

Osahar finished first and bid his parents a good night. He went to his bedroom, removed his loincloth, and crawled into bed. The silk sheet he was gifted by his father was a simple pleasure that quickly carried him to sleep.

***

Light bled through Osahar's closed eyelids. He became worried something was wrong. It was still early in the night after all. His eyes burst open to an impossible sight. He was no longer in his bed. Instead he stood on the shore of a lake.

This lake was entirely engulfed in flames, with a strange structure near the middle. In-between the licks of flame Osahar saw a figure appear. The entity, tall and slender, began to slowly walk towards the shore that Osahar was occupying. Fear quickly invaded Osahar and he turned around and ran as fast as his legs would move. He glanced over his shoulder, searching for the thing that lived at the center of the lake of fire, and tripped over his own feet.

***

When Osahar looked up he was back in his room, splayed out on the floor with the silk sheet wrapped tightly around his legs. His parents rushed in through the door in response to his terrified cries. Once he explained it was just a bad dream they returned to their bedroom.

Nervous about falling back asleep, Osahar sat at the edge of his bed and went over his dream in his mind. He delved so far into it that he missed the sun rising. He was still deep in thought when his mother poked her head in and told him it was time for their morning meal. He reluctantly got up, pushed his thoughts down and away before entering the main part of the house.

Osahar didn't say much as he ate. His parents tried to pry more information on his nightmare out, but he lied and said he didn't remember. Chione, knowing her son quite well, knew something was wrong and asked if he had gotten any more sleep, but Osahar lied again. With that, Osahar put on his loincloth and ran out the door.

The sun was already beating him down, but he knew the cool river would help with that. He first ran to his father’s shop, grabbed an empty pot and dragged it to the riverbank. He jumped in the refreshing water and took a quick dip. He felt invigorated and began clawing at the clay deposit. Whenever the heat became too much for him, he would lay down in the running river.

Several hours passed before he took a break and sat down on the shore. He had his knees to his chest and his head between them, unaware of the approaching figure. Osahar was deep in thought when something touched his neck and caused him to jump in terror, slapping at his back. When the sudden rush of adrenaline subsided he noticed his father, holding a cloth containing their noon meal. Osahar tried to nonchalantly step back onto the shore, but slipped and fell backwards into the river. Once he surfaced he could hear his father laughing as the small waves washed over his barely exposed torso.

"Are you okay, my son?" Donkor asked as he laughed and stepped into the water to offer him a hand.

"Yes, father," Osahar answered.

They sat in silence as they ate their dried fish and bread. After the last bite Donkor said his farewells and headed back to his shop. Osahar dove back into the water, now partly dry and hot, to cool down before starting his work again. The day dragged on at a slow pace and Osahar kept looking up at the sun as it beat down on him. As soon as it hit a specific spot in the sky he washed off his clay caked hands and dragged the now full pot to his father’s workshop.

Osahar was not his usual self that evening. Instead of being loud and full of life, he was quiet and lethargic. The only thing he said that night was in response to his mother asking if he was okay. He replied with a quick, "I'm just tired," and started to devour his evening meal. He then went to bed. He was exhausted from not sleeping, plus the added toll of the sun and river beating him down all day. He quickly slipped into the land of dreams.

***

The light pierced his closed eyes and taunted them open. In front of him was the familiar lake engulfed in flames. The hair on his neck began to stand at attention as Osahar noticed the figure from the previous night was still halfway to the shore. The figure was still slowly advancing. Osahar turned to run, but there was nowhere to run. He was already up against a wall of stone.

He hit the hard ground and curled up into a ball. Tears began to slide out of his clenched eyes and fell on the rocky surface. His breathing became labored as he pulled his body in as tightly as possible. The only sound to fill his ears were the crackles of the flames, whispering a haunting story of death.

"Open your eyes, young one, and greet your Lord!" The flames howled in malicious delight.

***

Osahar woke up screaming. His parents were quick to enter his room, Donkor holding a lamp. Chione rushed to her son. When the light reached Osahar's body it showed him exposed from the waist down and his arms and head wrapped in his silk sheet. He was crying and the tears had already started to pool on the inside of the silk, inundating his head in the liquid rich fabric. Chione unwrapped her child's head, and when Osahar's face was uncovered she began an assault of kisses on his forehead. She then pulled him in for a tight hug.

"Are you alright? What happened? Where does it hurt?" Chione was the first to speak.

"Was it the same nightmare?" Donkor asked, concern in his dark eyes..

"I am fine. There is no pain," Osahar replied as he got to his feet. "Only another bad dream."

"Tell us about it…" Chione began.

"It will help you overcome it." Donkor finished.

"I just need more sleep." Osahar said as he grabbed the silk sheet, still in his mother's grasp. With that declaration, and getting his sheet back, he laid down on the bed and threw the sheet over his body. "Goodnight."

Instead of sleeping, like he said he needed, he laid there staring at the straw ceiling over his bed. He remained deep in thought until the sun rose once again. When Chione looked in on him, he was still laying in the same spot. She retreated to her husband, worried about her boy, and discussed letting him take the day off to fully rest. Donkor agreed and they sat down without letting Osahar know the morning meal was ready. It didn't take long before the smell wafted into Osahar's room.

"Why didn't you tell me the food was ready?" Osahar almost yelled as he rushed into the main area, struggling to put on his loincloth, "Now I am going to be late."

"Watch your tone, boy," Donkor snapped, then his tone softened. "We are worried about these dreams. You won't discuss them and we know you are not sleeping. You need rest to be able to work, and as your boss, and your father, I want you fully rested."

"I am fine, father," Osahar replied as he quickly ate his fill of figs, dates, and bread with honey , "I promise to get more sleep tonight."

"We want you to take the day off, Osa," Chione chimed in, "Your father has enough clay for the day."

"But mother, if I stay home this soon the other boys will make fun of me." Osahar whined as he ran toward the cloth that held his father’s midday meal and ignored his parents' pleas to stay home as he ran out of the house. He ran to his father’s workshop and pulled the empty pot behind him as he went to his spot on the river. The sun seemed to be cooler today and when he stepped into the water it felt warmer on his dark skin.

The day slowly passed. He couldn't believe his parents would treat him like a child and went over what was said and things he should have said. He was able to forget about his dream until his father showed up to enjoy a meal with him and asked about the dream. Osahar went white, but lied and said he couldn't remember. Donkor knew his son was lying, but decided not to press the subject.

After Donkor left, Osahar couldn't fight the terror that crept into his mind over the previous night’s dream. He could feel the flames licking his skin as the sun beat down on him. He could hear the hissing of the fire telling him to open his eyes and greet his Lord. The cool water that surrounded his legs started to heat up and boil. He let out a scream and jumped for the shore.

When Osahar hit the bank he jolted upright. He had fallen asleep, half submerged in the water. He stood to get his bearings and noticed he had slept all afternoon. The sun was past the specific point in the sky and the pot was only three quarters full. He shrugged his shoulders and started to pull the container back to the shop. Once there he walked around looking at all of the things his father was working on, until his eyes fell upon an unfinished statue in the middle of the room.

The statue was taller than Osahar and almost complete. It had the body of a man, standing straight as a board, and had brilliant colors on its ceremonial clothes. The linen on the torso was almost see through and accentuated the man's different muscles. The shenti he wore around his waist was what had been bejeweled. The vibrant colored beads brought out the dark skin tone of the statue. The head was all that remained unfinished.

Osahar stared at the glob of still wet clay on top of the finished body for a few long seconds. That is when the clay began to move. Osahar stepped back, but kept his eyes on the transforming clay. At first it just swirled, then it became the head of a tesem, a hunting dog. The dog’s head looked around the room before its eye's landed on the small boy cowering under a table. There was a low growl that grew in intensity until the statue began to bark at the boy and baring its teeth, almost as if he was trying to bite him. Osahar was amazed at the transformation, but as soon as the tesem got vicious he turned and ran out of the building.

He ran like the statue was in pursuit of him; dodging, jumping and zigzagging over rocks and shrubs. Once he reached his home he burst through the wooden door, slammed it shut and leaned against it as if to try and block the entrance of his pursuer. His parents turned to see him breathing heavily and sweating profusely. Donkor and Chione stood up.

"What is the meaning of this, child?" Donkor demanded.

"Who is chasing you, my son?" Chione asked, worried.

"The unfinished statue …" Osahar had to breathe between every few words. "It came to life. It had … the head of … a jackal … and it tried … to attack me!"

"That is good news, Osa," Donkor answered with pride, "That means you can see the figure in the clay!"

"The figure … in the … clay?" Osahar asked as he sat on the ground in front of the door.

"Yes, you have the eye of a sculptor, just like me." Donkor said with a large smile, "Instead of collecting clay tomorrow, I want you to finish that statue."

Osahar continued to sit there, listening to his father retell the story of his first work. He then told Osahar how proud he was of him when he made the Horus eye around his neck. Chione even said how beautiful the eye was and how happy she remembered Donkor being after Osahar gifted it to him.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. The parents chatted about their day, tried to get Osahar to talk about his, and when that failed After dinner, Chione tried to entice him to play his favorite game. She grabbed the ivory pegs and the wooden base of Hounds and Jackals and sat down next to him, but Osahar said he wasn’t interested in playing. and retreated to his bedroom.

Donkor and Chione played instead. Osahar kept his room clean and needed to fix his silk sheet from the night before. After that he sat on the edge of his bed and fell deep in thought about the hallucination he had experienced. He knew he needed sleep, but was afraid of the fire and the frightening, god-like figure that stalked him. He leaned against the headboard of his bed and decided he should close his eyes for a moment.

***

"Open your eyes, young one, and greet your Lord!" The darkness spoke.

Osahar was right back where he feared. He was still curled into a ball and crying.

***

Osahar was shaken awake. The comforting smell of the fruits and barley that always surrounded his mother helped to reassure him that he was back home. When his eyes opened he was staring up at his parents. During his short nap he had fallen onto the floor. His parents said he had been crying out for them in his sleep. He knew he would have to tell them something as their worried faces flooded his vision.

"What are you dreaming, Osa?" Chione asked as she caressed her son's cheek, "Please tell us."

"I am dreaming of a lake of fire," Osahar admitted, to which his parents exchanged worried looks.

"That sounds like …" Donkor began, but Chione finished with, "A very bad dream."

"What can I do?" Osahar asked after his parents exchanged another look.

"Stand up to your dream. With Atum at your back nothing can hurt you!" Chione declared, "Come, you will feel better once you have a full belly."

The dried fish was just that in Osahar's mouth; dry. The roasted vegetables were stale as well. The bread broke down into dust when he bit into it. The amber liquid in his cup even hurt when he swallowed it in the attempt to wet his mouth. It was like fire in his throat. He struggled through his meal and retired to his room, saying goodnight to his parents as he disappeared through the dark entryway.

Osahar was scared of falling asleep. The two dreams he already had scared him more than the one from the night before, and his hallucination only added to that terror. If he couldn't trust his eyes, how could he trust his dreams? He sat in the dark, pondering what he could do. Could he stay awake indefinitely? Was there some way to fight his dream? He didn't realize he had started to slip from reality. Soon he was slumped against his bed post, wearing his loincloth, with his sheet neatly laying on the bed.

***

Osahar's eyes shot open when he heard the message from the flames. "Open your eyes, young one, and greet your Lord." He was back in the hellscape that terrorized his waking mind. He was still curled into the tightest ball possible, but his open eyes could see through the cracks in his arms. The figure was now standing before him. Its glittering shenti reflected the light from the lake of fire.

"Still your heart, child. I am your Lord."

"My Lord is Atum!" Osahar yelled defiantly.

"Then why are you here?" The figure asked, "Only my disciples may enter my domain."

"My Lord is Atum!" Osahar yelled again, still too afraid to look up at the figure.

"No, boy, I am your Lord," the unknown entity replied as it laid a hand on Osahar's shoulder, "And you will do my bidding, or suffer."

"Atum is my Lord!" Osahar yelled as he finally unfurled and stood up.

To his horror the tesem that had appeared on the unfinished statue was now looking down at him, lips curled in a snarl. Osahar took a few steps back, running into the stone wall in an effort to escape the fearsome stare of the god in front of him. The dog head only smiled down at him. Before Osahar could say another word the tall and slender dog-headed entity interrupted the hissing of the flames.

"My dear boy, if Atum was your Lord," the smile never leaving the lips of the hound, "You would be with him and not me."

"What do you want from me? Why am I here?"

"First, allow me to introduce myself. I am Am-heh, Eater of Eternity," The god of the underworld said, "And you, young one, are here to collect souls for me."

"I will never collect souls for you!" Osahar screamed in the dog's face.

"Then you shall suffer!" The tesem smirked.

"Then I shall suffer, Am-heh!" Osahar declared, but was met with a low growl that turned into a deep laugh.

"Your parents will make new additions to my ranks. How long do you think they will last?"

"My parents?" Osahar asked, shock spreading across his face.

"Oh yes, life is suffering," the dog, now just staring down at him, said. "I will take your parents to start. And I will be back … and back … and back … your entire life."

The two of them stared at each other before the underworld god smirked.

"Or … you happen to find a present in the water tomorrow. What you do with it is a choice."

***

Osahar woke up the second his mother entered the room. In contrast to his previous mornings he felt replenished and ready for the day. His mother and father could see the difference in their son. The smell of the dried food and fresh roasted vegetable medley wafted in waves over Osahar. The light poured in through every crack and oozed over everything until it was flooded in sunshine. The wooden chair was stiff, but pliable on the seat and back support. Osahar sat down while his mother quickly fixed him a plate of food. He was halfway through a second dried fish before his father spoke up.

"Osa, remember I want you to come to the workshop today," Donkor said, "I was serious about you finishing that statue."

"I would like to finish the pot from yesterday, please?" Osahar asked, big eyes gleaming.

"Okay, but hurry up. I have some techniques to show you," Donkor answered after a pause.

Osahar said his goodbyes and made his way to his father’s workshop to grab the pot from the previous day. He dragged it to his spot and jumped in the river. It didn't take long before he felt a presence. His eyes quickly scanned the river. Something bright and shiny caught his eye, barely glinting through the few feet of water. Osahar sank to just his nose, eyes and top of his head just above the water like a crocodile. He scanned the shore down the mighty river and noticed a few people working. What they were actually doing was a mystery to him.

Osahar slowly floated toward the vibrant beacon in an overall murky bottom. He was low enough to reach out and grab for the unknown object. A quick, sharp prick on his finger bit him as his hand landed on the buried item and wrapped his fingers around it. There was no fight to pull it out of sludge and it was soon shining brightly.

An extremely ornate dagger. It had a simple gilded handle, which then continued onto the blade in simple gold inlay. As Osahar caressed the small blade he witnessed the golden inlay on the polished metal begin to lose its sheen. He brought it a few inches from the surface of the water. The entire dagger turned a few shades darker and Osahar felt the presence again.

His eyes drifted to the closest worker. A boy a few years older than him was working in the reeds. He looked around and realized the next worker was at least double the distance he was from the one in the tall river grasses. The hilt of the blade fit his small hand perfectly. A warmth spread through it up his hand and arm, to his heart which ignited with the fires of Am-heh. His eyes shone like a tesem scenting its prey. It would be so easy to plunge the blade into the boy then hold him beneath the water until he stopped breathing. The tall reeds would hide the act from the sight of the others. Am-heh would have his sacrifice. Osahar gripped the knife, unsure of which choice to make.