The Pharoah Contract

“I have paid, no, never doubt that,” he crooned, low and malevolent. “But that time is over. Remember, if you go to your father, it will be much worse. Think of the wrinkles, the sagging flesh of age, the ugly bones beneath.” Then he released her and she stumbled away as fast as she could go.

At the palace, she went up to her apartments, hiding her hand in a fold of her dress, going by little-used ways. She met none of the other gods and godlings, for which she was grateful. The pain in her hand had subsided to a dull ache, centered in the joints of fingers and wrist. She looked fearfully at it, then held it up before her eyes.

In those days, the gods were above decay — immortal, for all they knew. Hashupit stared at her hand, withered, knob-knuckled, blue-veined, spotted with the discolorations of age. She made a small, unbelieving sound and fainted to the gold-leafed floor of her bedroom.

Chapter 14

Sweat ran down Ruiz Aw’s face, though the air was now quite cool. He found himself unprepared for the play to end so soon. The phoenix lay still on the gilded stage, a cast away blossom. The audience seemed to hold its collective breath. A black curtain swirled up from the stage apron, concealing the scene.

Moments later it dropped to reveal Hashupit, both hands wrapped carefully in rainbow gauze, waiting at the vast table of her father, the god of gods, Canesh.

* * *

She stood well back from her father’s huge devouring mouth. He would never consume her purposely, but his mouth was so vast and his hunger so great that accidents were possible. Her father’s arms, long and knotty as thorn trees, swept the sacrifices into his maw. As fast as he cleared the table, new heaps magically appeared, bullocks, bushels of sweet fruit, countless fowl, piles of ripe grain, pigs large and small — all sent to him by his priesthood, who saw value in keeping the most powerful and capricious of the gods fully occupied. Everything disappeared down her father’s throat, but though his jaws worked ferociously, he never quite caught up with the flow. Some of the food spilled and was carried away by mortal servitors, tiny as insects under the table of the god.

“Father,” she greeted him, intending to confess her foolish actions and rely on his power to set things right.

“Daughter, it’s pleasant to see you,” replied Canesh, in rumbling tones.

Hashupit felt an unpleasant tingle in her wounded hand. “Father,” she began, “a very strange thing has happened to me.” She stifled a shriek as her hand spasmed in agony. She held it below the table edge, where her father couldn’t see, and looked. Creeping up her wrist was a hideous line. Above was the polished skin of the goddess; below was the liverish withered flesh of age.

She remembered the demon’s warning.

“I… I might have an ache — a stomachache, the mortals call it. Is this possible, Father?” The line of corruption halted just above her wrist, but gave none of its ground back. Hashupit felt close to fainting again.

Her father eyed her for a long moment, his jaws slowing slightly. Then he smiled. “It’s only because you’re such a picky eater that you’ve never noticed that gluttony takes vengeance even on the gods.” Canesh rumbled a laugh. A belch enveloped Hashupit in a pungent cloud, and she held her breath. “Too much amberberry nectar, eh?”

“Perhaps that’s it,” she said. She managed a wan smile and withdrew from his dining hall.

* * *

Ruiz watched the phoenix, back in her chambers, unwind the rainbow gauze from her hand, slowly and methodically. He shuddered with disgust and pity as she raised her disfigured hand, though the datasoak told him that she’d been painblocked before the hand had been deep-fried in hot oil and then desiccated in a crude vacuum dryer. The hand was a hideous claw, and the phoenix looked at it in disbelief before fainting again.

The curtain fell on the first act — though in this case it fell upward from the stage, magically suspended from the night air.

During the brief intermission, Ruiz fixed his eyes on the ground and tried to think of anything but the phoenix and her pain.

The curtain dropped to begin the second half of the play. The phoenix knelt at the feet of the senior conjuror, his god-mask still concealed in black silk. At the far corners stood the two other mages, also masked. The torches around the perimeter of the stage alternated darkness and light, pulsing through no visible agency. The tableau held motionless for a long, long moment before Bhas raised his arms in jerky greeting.

* * *

Hashupit found Bhas waiting for her at the edge of the world. She lay her head against his feet, sobbing. “Oh please,” she said, “please, what can you want of me?”

The dry voice of power spoke gently. “Ah, lovely Hashupit, I only mean to help. The pain is necessary — necessary to ensure your future happiness. It’s true!”

Hashupit wordlessly raised the claw, shaking.