The Sixth Hour

By Listy Hanel

She was chosen by Anubis to be his aspect in the land of the living.

She is one of the Neter-shuwt, the god-shadows, protectors of Pharaoh's greatest treasure: his heir. This generation, Horus and Set have both sent their shadows, and Anubis has chosen a woman, a rare honor.

Anubis-shuwt and her seven fellows are finding their current charge most difficult, as Princess Netari rebels against her father and the man he has chosen to be her husband, placing herself and her guardians in far more danger than anyone realizes.

When disaster strikes, Anubis-shuwt finds herself in the company of strangers from Babylon, with most of Syria between them and their shared goal. Now, she must risk everything to save her princess from evil and her heart from the jaws of Ammut.

 

Listy Hanel's debut novella is a historical fantasy based on the mythology of Ancient Egypt. Any resemblance to persons living or mummified is purely coincidental.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Listy Hanel
• Release date: May 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201099602

Book preview

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THE PRINCESS NETARI fled the royal palace grounds, pursued by the shadow of Anubis. The moon had not yet risen, and she was bathed in darkness. Her bare feet made scarcely a sound upon the sandy stones. Her fine linen dress shone in the starlight. She tried her best to breathe quietly as she crept through the darkest paths she could find. She paused at a corner for a few moments, gathering herself and trying to remember which way to go.

There was a slight noise on the stone wall above her, quiet enough that most would not have noticed it. But she had been listening for it. She had heard it all her life. Go home! she whispered furiously into the darkness. I don't need you anymore! she took off running, suddenly sure of her direction.

It was very quiet. The waterwheels had been stilled for the night. Most citizens had closed themselves into their houses at this hour, praying that Ra would once again triumph on his perilous journey through the Duat. The few who were out and about kept to the main streets, so there was no one to notice the Princess as she hurried into the district where the artisans made their homes.

The houses were low and built with mud bricks in this part of the city, but she was not one to judge someone just because they were lowly! With lowliness came beauty, of a sort.

She counted as she passed behind the houses. Three down, two up. There it was, that darling, beautiful square of light. She jumped up and caught the low wall that ran between each house, hauling herself up, scuffing red dust across her dress. Well, she was going to have to get used to a little dust now and then in her new life. She walked the wall with arms outspread, jumped to catch the window ledge, and pulled herself up to peer inside. Duffa! she cried. Duffa?

N-Netari? The young man was there in an instant, reaching out so she could catch his arms and climb the rest of the way inside. The abode was tiny and smelled atrocious. But never mind all that! She threw her arms around his neck.

Yes, my darling Duffa! I found you! I told you that nothing could come between us!

Um...ah...er...Netari, he protested, trying not to touch her more than necessary. Won't your father be looking for you? Won't he be angry?

Who cares about Father? What matters is our love, my dearest!

But...

But what? We have little time! We must flee the capital! I have entered my fifteenth year and Father wishes for me to join with that abysmal Memnir! I hate him and I want nothing to do with him. He's just a stuffy old prince. But you, my Duffa, you are interesting and real. She seized his hand before he could snatch it away. Your hands are rough from labor, and I love you for that.

I throw clay for the potter and haul firewood, he protested. There's nothing special about that. I'd trade it in an instant to be a stuffy old prince.

You are wrong! Kiss me, you jewel of the mud-flats!

Netari! he cried, a bit too loudly. He cringed a bit and they were silent as they listened for any sign he had been heard. When all was still he looked back at her. Netari, I care deeply for you, but if we run away together, your father's wrath would be terrible! He would pursue us! He would kill me!

Am I not worth dying for? she asked, then glowered. Aren't I? You said you would die for me! You meant it, didn't you?

Um, of course. But there's a difference between dying for someone and throwing your life away.

She wasn't listening; she turned away, hands to chin. "Even if you were to die, my grief would be like that of Isis! That would show Father! He would never make me wed Memnir then!"

I think, maybe, Netari, that we need to think about this a little bit longer. I'm not yet twenty. I haven't made my way in the world. I don't want to throw clay forever. If we are patient, certainly I can make my—

And I told you we have no time! she practically screeched. Memnir is on his way to the palace! We must get away tonight, or were you lying when you said you adored me?

I wasn't lying! I'm just worried that we're being a bit rash.

You are brave, Duffa, I have no doubt you will be—

At that instant, Duffa screamed like a child, falling back against the wall, eyes fixed upon the window, mouth moving wordlessly. Netari whirled and scowled at the figure crouched there. I told you to go home! I'm leaving the palace! I am no longer heir to the Pharaoh!

Duffa made an inarticulate noise as the figure stepped gracefully into the room.

It was a woman, perhaps twenty, her dark hair woven in a multitude of tight braids, tied so they were silent when she moved. Her eyes were dark and glittered with intelligence. She wore little clothing: a black kilt, a top that exposed her arms and belly. Her feet were bare. She was svelte and athletic as any warrior.

And every part of her body had been tattooed with black ink.

Her face was covered in delicate lines, even her ears were touched with ink. Patterns and hieroglyphs ran down her arms and legs, encircled her torso, and slid beneath her clothes. Up close, they appeared but random patterns, but anyone taking a step back could see her body had been transformed to evoke a jackal, including a tail wrapped around her left leg and paws on her feet and hands.

She stepped towards Duffa, who made a weak sound like a wounded cat and tried to push himself through the wall.

Stand down! Don't you touch him! I love him! Netari shrieked.

The woman put her face close to his, looking him up and down without ever meeting his gaze, and suddenly blew a puff of breath at him, as if shooing a bug from his nose.

Curse! shrieked Duffa. I'm cursed! He flung himself towards the door, missed it entirely, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

The woman looked at him, then at the Princess with an inquisitive eye.

He is my true love?

The woman merely sighed and walked to the window, pulling a little wooden whistle from its place beside a short sturdy knife on her belt and blowing a surprisingly powerful tweet into the darkness. Somewhere nearby, another tweet answered, then another. Somewhere down by the river, there was a distant howl.

I'm not going home! I don't want to marry Memnir.

There was a commotion downstairs, and a moment later the door bashed open and a pair of armed guards entered. The woman slipped out the window into the darkness.

Your Highness, said one. You must return with us at once.

No! I am no longer a princess! I renounce the title!

They ignored her, seizing her arms and dragging her out through the house past the cowering residents as she screamed, biting and tearing at their hands. She grabbed the threshold as she passed, clinging to the rough wood a moment before she was yanked free.

A chariot stood in the middle of the street. The few citizens outside their homes were bowed down. The Pharaoh stood glowering as she was dragged over. Netari, he groaned. What are you doing, you foolish girl!

I'm running away! I have found my true love! I do not wish to marry Memnir!

That is a shame, because you are going to marry Memnir, and you will both be very happy.

No! she screamed as she was hauled into a second chariot.

Pharaoh raised his eyes to the low roof nearby with a smile of gratitude. Two shadows moved there before vanishing into the night.

THE SCREAMS AND CRASHES from the Princess' room echoed through the entire palace for many hours into the night. Pharaoh just tried to ignore it all, staring at his stone ceiling a bit helplessly.

Losing her mother four years ago, along with the infant who would have been pharaoh, had been hard. Very hard. He had loved her. All of Egypt had loved her, and she Egypt, and she brought light to every hour from the moment he met her to the day she died. He should marry again. He kept telling himself to marry again, that it would benefit everyone. But for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

But that didn't mean Netari couldn't! Memnir was a fine man and a prince of his province and their union would unite Egypt. It was a good match, and it was going to happen.

There was another distant crash. Yes, the marriage would happen. Whether Memnir survived it was not his concern.

He slept on this uncomfortable thought, rose late, and went out to the garden for his morning meal. He was not halfway through it when a servant came and knelt. Sire, the Priestess of the Neter-shuwt has come.

Indeed? Show her here.

The servant hesitated, as if she wanted to protest or ask something, but shook herself out of it and hurried away. Pharaoh sighed. What was wrong with everyone lately?

There was a rustle in the trees and a shadowy figure moved along the wall. He ignored it and munched his bread. The breeze ruffled around him, bringing with it a terrible odor. He made a face as he sat back, wondering where it came from.

The Priestess approached, hands together. She was in a long black linen dress and her hair was shaved on the sides of her head. Her skin was marked with fading ink to look like a lioness. Behind her walked a pathetic figure in black, her jackal markings marred by a rainbow of colors.

Pharaoh, the Priestess bowed as the other woman fell into a low crouch. I am sorry to trouble you this morning.

It is never trouble to see you, my old guardian and friend, said Pharaoh. But what have you brought to me?

I am sorry, but I wanted you to see the state in which Anubis-shuwt returned to us this morning. Though it is usually frowned upon to look upon the Neter-shuwt, I believe you need to behold her now.

But do I need to smell her?

Sire, the Priestess said a bit severely. We are the shadows of the gods themselves. We will not be abused. Your daughter dumped all her makeup paints and then her chamber pot over Anubis-shuwt, as revenge for following her to the home of her true love.

Do not even say those words to me.

Did you show that boy any mercy?

He was so terrified he soiled himself. I sent him off to join the army in the south. It will do him good, and get him far away from my daughter. And speaking of soiling, please send Anubis-shuwt away now. I will add an extra offering to Anubis this very day in recompense.

The Priestess glanced at the young woman, and she was instantly in motion, running across the garden, swarming up the wall, and running along it towards the temple grounds. The air was immediately fresher. Pharaoh picked up his bread. Priestess, I apologize for my daughter, and I understand her sin against the gods, but the Neter-shuwt have their duty, and I expect it to be carried out.

You know they will, she replied with a toss of her head. She still had many of the qualities that made her such an excellent Sekhmet-shuwt in her day. Always, we carry out the will of the gods. Always.

He smiled. I know. I will speak to Netari.

Good luck, she replied, bowing low before turning away.

He sighed, and tossed his bread down upon the plate. Why couldn't he have a nice, simple, straightforward problem, like a war, for instance? A willful daughter was far more difficult.

LAUGHTER ECHOED THROUGH the temple garden.

Behind the grand temple dedicated to the Neter-shuwt were the grounds and garden where the eight guardians of the heir of the Pharaoh resided when they were not watching her from the shaded corners of the palace. Four were women, unusual but ultimately practical, for they were required to be intimately close to the princesses and queens at all times. They all wore black linen kilts that reached the knee and the women wore black bandeaus or short shirts more for support than modesty. Bast-shuwt's shirt was of the sheerest fabric to show off the elaborate inking around her breasts, of which she was quite proud.

She was a slight, petite girl with true catlike grace and bright eyes, well chosen by her goddess. Her straight black hair was cut short above her shoulders. She turned a sneer upon the man who rolled in the grass beside the bathing pool, howling with mad laughter.

You're a beast, she told him.

He stopped and looked at her. He had been handsome once, but his face was now marred by the severe markings of the Set beast. Why the dangerous god had sent his shadow this generation was anyone's guess—he rarely bothered—but it was a terribly great honor, and the youth embraced his station with relish.