Song’s End

I leaped about my shop, stuck between singing and gasping for air. “O happy day! What a glorious day! The Song Pharaoh has commissioned me to make her headdress for tonight’s new-year ceremony. She who broke the tyranny of the Pharaoh of Forgotten Plagues—that fiendish despot of terrible and awesome power. She who has, in only forty-seven years since his fall, brought Osirion to unparalleled heights of majesty and might. She will be wearing my headdress tonight!” I looked out the window once more, not believing what had happened. There, still walking away, was the pharaoh’s messenger heading from my door. I let out a sigh and leaned against the wall, disbelieving. I was to make something that the pharaoh herself would wear—that which would touch her divine form. A craftsman such as I could envision no greater honor.

“Jamere? Is everything alright?”

My loving wife ducked through the curtained doorway to see why I was shouting, and I took her by the hands and pulled her in to dance with me in the center of the floor. Her squeal of surprise was quickly replaced by laughter. “Jamere! We’re far too old to be dancing like this.”

And yet we danced.

“Iahbi, my love, I cannot help it. The pharaoh has commissioned me to make her headdress for tonight’s festivities. I shall be the most famous man in all of Osirion come tomorrow.” It would be a splendid example of Osirion craftsmanship, with all its parts being local to Shiman-Sekh to showcase the bounties Her Holiness had given us. I was composing a list of everything I would need—when a stunning realization hit me: I had no measurements of the pharaoh’s head.

My soaring heart quickly dropped into my stomach. A perfectly fitting headpiece could not be achieved without her specifications.

I must get them.

Perhaps one of her servants at the pharaoh’s vacation home, the Lotus Palace, had record of them.

I would go inquire.

I twirled my wife gently away and brought myself to the doorway. “Iahbi, I must depart now, but I will be back within the hour. I’ve not much time and so much to do. Please tell Menhet, when he comes, that I need him to ready the workshop and freshen all my supplies.”

Iahbi smiled broadly. I couldn’t help myself.

“Oh, I cherish your smile Iahbi; the way your almond eyes disappear in those joyful lines of your face.” She blushed and then met my eyes with hers.

“Of course you do, you lucky man you. When you return, your workshop shall be ready to make your masterpiece.”

“Thank you, my love.” I beamed at her once more, thankful to have had such a partner for so many years. It would not be so if the Song Pharaoh had not come. The world was vicious under her predecessor, but now the average person was living well beyond their 60th year. Truly it was a magical time to be alive. When I was young, I never thought I would have the chance to pass on my hard-earned wisdom to a younger generation. I’d never imagined I would be blessed with Iahbi, my shop, or the city of Shiman-Sekh

I circled back around and fetched my measuring twine, a scrap of papyrus, and a stub of charcoal from my workbench. The palace might not have such supplies on hand and I wanted to be prepared. Smiling to myself, I stored the instruments in the pockets of my light gray tunic—my twine touching her divine head would no doubt imbue my work with her blessing. I could not fail.

I went over my itinerary as I rushed from my home. First, to the palace; I would need the pharaoh’s measurements before I could do anything else. Next, I would go to the market to peruse Geroo’s latest treasures, and then on to the aviary, to select the finest and rarest feathers from the finest birds. The messenger had indicated an ample reward should I please the pharaoh, so cost was no obstacle today.

I went through our creaky wooden door and emerged onto a street just southeast of the main plaza. I had chosen this house for its uninterrupted view of the palace and its proximity to the city’s east markets. Its stone was smooth and unblemished, as if we did not live in a desert with scouring winds. As I approached the palace, the guards out front stopped me. They were muscular and filled with youthful vigor, and their curved khopeshi were perfectly honed. “Halt! What is your business?”

  I smiled inwardly. They were alert and cautious too, exactly what I would like from those tasked with guarding Her Holiness.

“I am Jamere Menetnashte. I operate a small accessories shop to the southeast, just off the plaza. I have been honored with the task of making the pharaoh’s headdress for this evening, but I do not know her measurements. I was hoping one of the servants could obtain them and dictate them to me, so I may make the headdress perfect for Her Holiness.” I showed them the measuring twine. They conferenced among themselves for a moment, and then one of them walked into the palace.

“Wait here. You will be speaking with her handmaiden. She may ask you questions. You are to answer honestly and without hesitation. If you lie, we will know, and you will be expelled from the grounds immediately and without appeal. Understood?” Her voice was deep and commanding, the perfect tone for a palace guard.

“Absolutely,” I said, truthfully and without hesitation, moving to the side to await the pharaoh’s servant. Standing on the palace steps was exhilarating, but I was struggling to keep my composure. I was mere feet from the palace where only the pinnacle of Osiriani culture was normally allowed. Perhaps if all went well, I would be invited back to make another headdress for her. The thought of continued service to our beloved Song Pharaoh was too exciting. She had built our city and our home of Shiman-Sekh—surely the most beautiful place in all Osirion—and for that she deserved everything I could offer.

I ran a hand through my thin wispy hair and straightened my tunic. I wanted to calm myself before her handmaiden arrived. It would not do to require a healer because I was too old to handle the stress.

I turned from the palace and looked out on the city. Low sandstone buildings of exemplary make covered the land. They did not reflect the palace’s perfection, but they were brilliantly crafted nonetheless, even down to the slaves’ quarters. I remembered living in Sothis before the building of this Promised Land. The capital was darker then and filled with squalor. Neither could be said of Shiman-Sekh. Oh, here were certainly poor people, but even their homes were solid and immaculately crafted. There were no beggars on the streets here, no destitute wandering about. If someone wanted work they could find it—whether under a craftsman like myself, or in gathering a livelihood from the vibrant flora and fauna of the Golden Oasis. It was from those gatherers that I purchased most of my day-to-day supplies.

From this vantage I could see the Golden Oasis shimmering, stretching in blue brilliance over the eastern horizon. The massive series of shallow lakes was shaped like a lotus, from which the city’s roads and the pharaoh’s palatial retreat took their inspiration. Nobody knew how it got its shape, for it was here long before Shiman-Sekh was built, and likely had been so since the dawn of time. I breathed deeply. The impeccable palace, beautiful city, and eternal oasis gave me peace.

Turning, I noticed the same handmaiden I’d glimpsed earlier patiently waiting, taking in the same view. Her hair, dark as midnight, draped itself around her slender form. She wore a long alabaster dress which flowed luxuriously to her ankles. Her face was long and thin and bore no ears, and her eyes were golden and serpentine. There was an inhuman, almost feral, aspect to her gaze. A crocodile’s spirit had found its way into her lineage.

“The city is beautiful, isn’t it?” she sighed.

“Without compare.” I glanced back at the skyline and then down to her outstretched hand.

“Here are the measurements you needed.” She passed me a piece of fine papyrus. “The messenger should have given them to you when he arrived, but it seems to have slipped his mind. Indeed, he is the reason you’ve been given this honor. He accidentally destroyed the previous headdress. You will not be so clumsy, will you, Menetnashte?” Her snake-like eyes focused on me. The breeze lazily fluttered her skirt toward me, bringing with it a subtle dread. With effort I tossed aside the uneasiness of her presence. If the pharaoh trusted her then so would I.

“Never,” I replied. “I take pride in my work. This headdress will be the most beautiful and comfortable piece the pharaoh has ever worn.” It was odd for her to ask such a thing. I, of course, had unending faith in my abilities and would do whatever it took to make this headdress perfect, but, having stood there awhile, I realized the shadows were already lengthening. The morning had slipped by, and precious few hours remained to construct the best work of my life. “Now, if you would excuse me.” I bowed to the handmaiden and made a hasty departure.

I went straight from the palace to the bazaar, which was thrumming with activity. Merchants from every province hawked their wares with joy and excitement. The celebration tonight brought tourists, and tourists brought money, and so the merchants hawked their wares with joy and excitement. Many of these women and men had been children when I’d opened my store. Now they were my suppliers and friends.

I made a beeline for one of the many cloth-roofed stalls selling the bounties of the oasis. A rainbow of plants and animal parts adorned his tables. Geroo, the man I had come to see, was dozing in a chair behind his counter. His wife, keeping an eye on their inventory, noticed my approach and waved me over with a smile and an apologetic nod in her husband’s direction.

“Geroo, I need to see your best.” I took out a small pouch which jangled with coins as I shifted it in my palm.

The drowsing, squat, and portly man looked up past his squashed nose at the sound and grinned. He liked when I needed to see his best. “Anything for you, Jamere. Anything at all.”        Geroo had purchased some equipment from me to help him on his gathering forays: baubles that attracted creatures for him to trap and an armored shirt (for himself) to keep from being eaten. He brought a box from behind the stall’s front counter and opened it with a smile.

“Only for you, my friend. This week’s prizes are—”

I put up my hands. His products were without equal, but his pitches took forever. “I’m sorry, Geroo, but I’m in a rush.” He hesitated in surprise, as an apology wasn’t usual for me. “I can’t get into the details now, but you’ll be seeing your prizes again later”—I took him by the shoulders and smiled broadly— “and it might be the proudest moment of your life.”

“Ahem.” Geroo’s wife got our attention from behind him with a pointed look.

“Okay, second proudest.” I rasped a laugh–I used to bellow, now I rasp—sufficient age and breathing equal parts sand and air will do that to you. Geroo and his wife laughed and I smiled too. I took a well-preserved set of hetkoshu scales and a pillowy caracal fur, the first as a cover for the front of the binding and the second to soften the inside for the pharaoh’s comfort.

I thanked Geroo and his wife and began my trek toward the aviary. Musicians played and dancers twirled. Nobody but Geroo was calm enough to nap. Everything was brightly colored and full of cacophonous shouting mixed with laughter.

The scent of jasmine wafted on the market’s breeze, and I froze. My hands instinctively began the vague tracery of sigils that would shield me from ill intent. I forced myself to continue walking, but dread made me stop once more. I’d smelled a bough of dried lavender hanging from a foreign herbalist’s stall.

The Pharaoh of Forgotten Plagues and his minions had once employed the fragrance of lavender as their signature. Ever since, the smell has reminded me of that age’s tragedies. A threat such as that hadn’t existed for decades, but Sothis under that tyrant was… a thing I wished to forget. The Plague-pharaoh’s cultists were everywhere in the city, slaying honest folk with jasmine-scented poisons and corrupting the influential with their honeyed words. People you’d thought were your friends suddenly tried to end your life; it was horrible never knowing who you could trust. The Pharaoh of Forgotten Plagues created paranoia among the populace to keep us weak and subservient. The fear of having the ones you loved snatched from the streets was enough to turn anyone into an informer, making any alliances dangerous. However, when the Song Pharaoh began her revolution, I was ready. I’d prepared myself to fight, and I fought fiercely. I was one of the lucky ones. Magic runs through me and answers when I call. I stayed alive with blasts of fire in shaded alleys, fading to nothing when hostile eyes would have found me. Combat magic was all I could use, a mixed blessing to have grown up in a time of strife.

My family, skilled in all matters arcane, made perfect allies for the Song Pharaoh. In that brief yet terrible war, we were her soldiers and spies. Losses on both sides were astronomical. Entire districts of the city were blasted, crushed, or burned to nothing. The Pharaohs’ final duel nearly destroyed Osirion entirely. Since the revolution’s end I had done everything I could to put it behind me, to leave it as a terrible necessity of a bygone age. I’d had enough of violence and death. These days the only one who knew my past was my beloved Iahbi. I preferred it that way. In Shiman-Sekh, my magic went into my work, not war.

My work!

Once again, I was lost in recollection, wasting precious time. I doubled my pace, hurrying across town towards the aviary. Hustling past the palace, I saw the handmaiden watching me from a low balcony. I smiled and waved to her, she returned neither and walked back into the palace. If she kept that up she’d have sterner wrinkles than mine. Smile wide and smile often, your wrinkles will be kinder for it.

The aviary of Shiman-Sekh was a favorite place of mine, housing birds in every hue and size. If you knew the keepers (which of course I did, since their infancies), you could even buy the creatures or their feathers. There were two sets of doors into the lobby to keep the birds from escaping. A thin young woman—her auburn hair kept in a tight bun to prevent her merchandise from plucking it for their nests—stood alone in the lobby behind a short mahogany desk. It was Lasisi’s job to direct the guests and make sure no thieves came in to steal one of her winged charges.

“Old ma— er, Wiseman Menetnashte. Welcome back,” she teased. I’d been a part of her life since before she could speak.

“Good morning, Lasisi. Confessed your love to Kuvem yet?” I ribbed her back. Kuvem and Lasisi had been friends since childhood. Lasisi threw a look at a hallway door. No doubt Kuvem was somewhere beyond it. “Grandfather Jamere, not so loud.” She lowered her voice to an excited whisper. Her cerulean eyes, set in a long ovoid face, darted back to the door.

They’d been fawning over each other for years, and he recently started “helping out” at Lasisi’s family business. Before his first day, he confided in me that he was thrilled to be able to spend more time with Lasisi. At the time, I was there to put in my order early, but later that day returned to the shop to pick up my goods. Kuvem had been cleaning the same bird cage since I left and was covered in bird droppings and a smile. I knew then that Lasisi had found a rarity in this world, and as for Kuvem, well, he knew what he was getting into.

Oh, young love. They even thought it was a secret. If only they knew their parents had already met and settled the wedding arrangements and bought a home for them to share.

“I’m hoping Kuvem will invite me out tonight for the festival. I’ve been dropping hints all week—”

She shut her mouth hastily as Kuvem stepped through the door.

“Oh, Wiseman Menetnashte. Glad to see you again. What are you two talking about?”

He hadn’t heard us. Kuvem was always too honest to hide such things, which was half the reason why the whole town knew about their romance.

“Oh! Nothing.” Lasisi chirped all too quickly and none too casually. Her inability to lie was the other half.

I smiled to myself and put on a more businesslike tone. “I’m afraid I’m not here to watch the birds today, youngsters. I’m here for some feathers. Would you mind?” I nodded toward the direction from which Kuvem had emerged.

“Not at all, Wiseman. Come. I’ll lift anything you need.” He held the heavy door for me with one hand. I smiled. Kuvem was strongly built, kind, and reliable. I had no doubt he’d make a good husband.

He led me down the windowed side hallway. In the filtered light, I caught him glancing back at the door. I could tell he needed his turn to confide in me.

The room at the end of the hall had boxes of varying sizes containing parts of birds that had died. I didn’t like killing live ones. It made no sense. Kill something beautiful and alive to make something pretty but dead? I would only take from those already claimed by the Lady of Graves. I started rooting through the boxes of feathers when I noticed Kuvem standing exceptionally straight-backed behind me.

“Yes, Kuvem? Something on your mind?” I chuckled.

“Oh, um, yes. I’ve been getting the feeling Lasisi wants me to go with her to the festival tonight. What should I do?”

Thank the gods, he wasn’t dense. I felt relieved that he’d picked up on Lasisi’s hints.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

I plucked a particularly large scarlet flamingo feather from a box and put it to the side. Macaw and toucan feathers followed. Kuvem didn’t answer me so much as sputter a series of “ums” and “uhs.” He reminded me a lot of myself when I’d met Iahbi.

“You go with her. She’s given you the question and the answer all in one, boy. Be grateful. Most of life is not so clear cut.” I’d finished my selection, but I gave him a few extra moments by pointlessly rifling through more feathers.

“You’re right, Wiseman. Of course. You once told me the simplest answer is the hardest to see, and indeed, your wisdom proves itself again. Thank you!”

I took what I needed and handed Kuvem some coins. “Payment for the feather, and a little more. Treat her to something tonight.” I patted him on the shoulder and began to leave.

“Wiseman, I cannot take this! You’ve handed me a gold scarab.”

“Oh, did I? Hmm. Must be my old eyes.” I winked back and kept walking to the lobby, with Kuvem following behind. “Have some fun tonight you two. It’s a festival, after all!” I threw back over my shoulder as I left. I saw them both jump, and I laughed all the way back to my shop.

Menhet, my halfling assistant, awaited me when I arrived. He was an orphan child, yet unlike the other war orphans I’d come across, he showed no fear. He showed no courage either. What I saw in him was analysis. He was examining everything around him and mentally experimenting how he might improve his lot. That natural brilliance was rare, and a lifetime of servitude under a craftsman or bureaucrat that failed to recognize his intellect would have been a tragedy. He didn’t know it, but years ago, I’d left the shop to him in my will, along with significant savings for Iahbi. The priests of Abadar had these records under lock and key; Menhet stood to receive a pleasant surprise once I was gone. His skill at our arts was marvelous. With everything I’d taught him and decades left to learn, no doubt he’d surpass me one day.

“Welcome home, Master Jamere. Everything is ready. Mistress Iahbi is most excited, but she doesn’t say why. What are we making today?” Curiosity burned in his eyes. Menhet was not magically blooded like I was. He’d learned some magic through rigorous study, which made his curiosity an asset. It had fueled him through many sleepless nights working by my side.

“My boy, today is the most important day in this shop’s history. Today we make a headdress for no other than the Song Pharaoh herself!” I threw my hands to the sky. Menhet’s jaw dropped, and his eyes glazed before reigniting with passion.

“Master, that’s incredible! I will give this my utmost effort. You needn’t worry about a thing; I won’t let you down.” Lately, I’d entrusted him with the primary crafting responsibilities. My hands didn’t quite bend like they had when I was younger.

Today though, today was something special.

“No, my boy, not this time. Today, you get to see a master work once more. You’ll assist, of course, but this is to be my crowning masterpiece, a work of art that they’ll remember me by.” My voice vibrated with vigor. Menhet’s eyebrows raised as exhilaration took hold of him. It had been some time since he’d seen my artistic touch in action. His passion was contagious, and I was getting even more enthusiastic.

“Oh, Master, it’ll be my honor to witness this.”

He used to love to watch me work. He said it was my ‘devotion to the task’ he admired. Really, I think he just liked to watch me weave my magic. Not figuratively, but to see how I placed each incantation for its greatest effect. In this way, I furthered his education by leaps and bounds, despite the difference in our methods.

“Go grab the lightest bones we have, Menhet. Get more from Geroo if need be, but be quick about it. We’ll skip some of the bells and whistles this time to focus on the quality.” I rolled out the papyrus bearing the pharaoh’s measurements. ‘Bells and whistles’ meant enchantments. I did not have weeks left to imbue the headdress with as many properties as I did for my usual clients. That did save some magic for making better use of our time. I watched as my assistant hurried back and laid out several boxes of long hollow bones on the table. “Menhet, do you remember the spell I used the last time we were on a tight deadline?”

His eyes gleamed.

“Here is your chance to see it again.” I tapped my right foot on the floor, and my hands on my hips. I chanted eldritch phrases in a rapid staccato. increasing in speed until the world itself felt slower around me.

I sped up to Menhet’s eyes. I flew across the workshop with amazing speed. Measuring, cutting, binding, arranging, all at a blinding pace. Light always looked funny when I did that, so in between castings, I examined my progress and made minor adjustments as necessary. I did this over and over, and my practiced hands did more work in those few minutes than they had in years

We worked for several hours after that, tinkering and tweaking, until the final result of our labor was a masterpiece. Beautiful feathers in reds and golds brought vibrancy and body to the frame without the heat-trapping nature of cloth. Strong green hetkoshu scales lined the binding, glinting in the light and covering the inner supports. Soft amber-hued caracal fur would ensure the pharaoh’s comfort, so she would all but forget the headdress. It was the best work I’d ever created.

By the time we’d finished, the sun had begun to set. I placed the headdress on a curved form and set that on a platter so as not to ruin the feathers.

“Menhet, excellent work, my boy. Your last three tasks for today: bring the headdress to the palace. Make sure it goes directly to the hands of the handmaiden with scaled skin and golden eyes. Second, lock up the shop when you return. Third, enjoy the festival. By the gods, we’ve earned it.” I chuckled. He nodded ecstatically and carefully left with our masterpiece. Iahbi came into the workshop, smiling as she had been when I’d left her that morning.

“Well done, my love. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She put her wrinkled hands on my sagging cheeks, kissing my creased forehead. I couldn’t have been happier until the pain started to return to my hands.

“Second, after you, my love.” I drew her close and murmured into her ears. Then I pulled back and she noticed a twinkle of excitement in my eyes.

“Come, my husband. Let us go enjoy the festival.”

I nodded and we walked to the plaza west of the palace. Every festival began here, so the pharaoh was awash in the setting sun’s rays. I loved Iahbi with all my mortal power, but there was something transcendent in the pharaoh’s beauty. Neither the oasis nor the palace could compare to her.

As we walked, taking our time as the venerable are wont to do, I began to muse. A loving wife, an epic legacy, and a beautiful city. I was incredibly fortunate. Nethys had graced me since the Song Pharaoh’s ascension. I would always be grateful to the pharaoh for a chance at a life like mine.

A crowd had gathered while I had been working. Some gaudily dressed performers were juggling or dancing. Merchants were selling treats or souvenirs. I saw Lasisi and Kuvem sitting on a bench in their nicest clothes, holding hands. I pointed them out to Iahbi and she smiled, resting her head on my shoulder. We’d made it just in time. As soon as we’d found a bench to rest upon, the Song Pharaoh, resplendent in dusken light and her royal attire, emerged from the palace. My headdress sat upon her head perfectly, catching the warm reds and yellows of dusk.

She raised her arms to great applause and screams of adulation. She lowered them and the audience quieted. “My beloved people,” she began. “My belov-” she stopped. Something was wrong. The pharaoh’s head drooped, and she staggered to the balcony's edge. The audience looked on in shock and horror as some invisible force pushed her over the edge.

I had no magic left yet, as she fell, time slowed for me anyway. My beloved pharaoh, who had saved us from such horrors as this, was now their victim. I had no magic that could save her. All I had left were spells of violence. The crowd’s screams of joy turned to shrieks of horror. She hit the stone plaza with a sickening thud.

The pharaoh lay upon the ground, her back broken and head split, my headdress shattered and soaking in her blood. I rose from my bench and knelt beside her. The woman I had fought to enthrone. The woman who rescued not only me but all of Osirion was dead, her face twisted in confusion and terror.

My heart beat fast.

Sorrow and rage boiled up inside of me. Who did this?

My heart beat faster.

Who hurt our pharaoh so?!  I roiled inside. Partially covered by her regal dress was a jagged dagger stuck fast between her ribs. It smelled ever so faintly of jasmine.

The fluttering dress–the unease I had felt when I looked upon the handmaiden–also smelled of jasmine.

Scalding tears burned a path down my cheeks.  I reached out and touched the flamingo feather. Soaked through with red, the feather’s parts were sticking together. My tears mingled with her blood.

My heart beat slowly.

All of Osirion is lost! Who will lead it now?

My vision tunneled.

No doubt some vile usurper.

My hearing muted.

Such is the way of pharaohs. This one though...

I reached toward her, my fingers stopping just short of touching her.

This one was a hero.

My chest felt tight.  I crumpled alongside Osirion’s last great pharaoh.

I have crowned you twice now, your highness. To die by your side is my greatest honor.

My heart beat no more.